What It Takes
by aCupofJo
Summary: Quinn was the only thing keeping Rachel alive. Like hell Quinn would die before her. Content & rating may vary, AU zombie apocalypse, punk!Quinn, Faberry.
1. Chapter I

_**What It Takes**_

_**Chapter I**_

* * *

"Rachel," Quinn said gently. She touched the tired singer's shoulder softly. Rachel mumbled, her brows furrowing slightly as she was still deep in much needed sleep. Quinn hesitated, smiling at just the corners of her pink lips, watching the sleeping girl. At a time like this, in a world as it was, something as little as watching someone sleep was comforting.

"Rachel, we have to get up," Quinn tried again. She rocked Rachel's shoulder a tad before sitting up straight. Sighing through her nose, she ran a hand through her disheveled, shaggy pink hair. Watching the sunrise was the best part of mornings. That and waking up crying, knowing you've made it another day and you're still alive and not infected.

The same little smile was on Quinn's face as she looked out to the eastern horizon. The first touch of pink chased the dark indigo. Soon the light would be stretching out over the sky and warmth would come to them. Sleeping on the roof at night on their current building was cold. Quinn had given Rachel everything she could to keep her warm, which was really just her weathered, studded, and dirtied jean jacket. She wanted it that way. In some ways, Quinn was glad she had Rachel with her, save all the reasons that the world was crumbling.

On cue, a guttural groan reached her distantly from the street.

Rachel began to wake up, her eyes clenching close in an attempt to keep sleep from escaping. Quinn watched a spare moment as Rachel clutched her battered jacket beneath her chin before she turned to reach behind her. On a lawn chair, Quinn selected a jet-black sniper rifle. She slid open a panel on the barrel of the sniper with a mechanical whirring and checked the ammo stock. Fit with the three bullets out of four that the sniper could contain, she closed the panel and switched off the safety with a click. The sounds finally registered to Rachel and she breathed in deeply, like emerging water, and opened her eyes confusedly.

"Quinn?" Rachel called out, an edge to her voice.

There was always an edge to her voice in the first moment of waking up.

She always called Quinn's name.

Setting the sniper rifle to the side quickly, Quinn knelt by Rachel. She caught the hand she knew Rachel was raising and brought it to her chest, holding it close, while her other hand assisted the shoulder rising off the blanketed ground as Rachel sat up. She felt so small in her hands and she pushed away any thought of another person's hands, dead or alive, on her.

Rachel felt the warm skin over Quinn's collarbone and being lifted as she sat up. Knowing the same as Quinn, that they have survived together just another day, the tears began to roll down her cheeks as she blinked away the slumber, nuzzling her nose into the crook of Quinn's neck. In unison, their arms slipped around each other, pulling one another into an embrace that had never been seen before in school, let alone any sort of gesture of affection or comfort.

It was a ritual. Quinn would rise first, her internal clock waking her nearly an hour before dawn. She would find something to eat in a storage room just a floor below, where they were still safe by a locked, metal door. She would eat, make something for Rachel, and then sit and wait. When it was time for sunrise, she would gently loosen Rachel's hold on sleep. Quinn would begin to prepare the few guns they were limited to. When Rachel would wake up in a minute's time, Quinn was there. Always there. For two weeks now. She had been there, easing Rachel up and out of panic and fear, embracing her and letting her cry, knowing just an hour ago, she had also woken up with her lips wet with her own tears but unwilling to admit how lost and scared she truly felt.

Quinn smoothed out Rachel's long chocolate-brown hair, starting from the crown of her head, down her neck, and to the ends of her hair just below her shoulder blades. Even two weeks later, all their time spent on the roof had windblown her hair free of most dirt or debris, and it was still nice to the touch. Not that Quinn ever thought about running her fingers through it. She only did this because she found early on that doing this motion soothed the smaller girl, like she was drawing out all the bottled emotions she collected during the night. She did this several times before Rachel sniffled and pulled away, wiping her only slightly dirty sleeve on her cheek. She looked like such a little girl, who had fallen and scraped her knee, and Quinn was just there to make sure she was okay. It worried Quinn. How could she survive? How could she survive without _her_?

"We can't last much longer," Rachel whispered. Her hands fell into her lap, a motion Quinn watched and saw as defeat.

"Eat," Quinn avoided, placing a packaged muffin and some water in her hands on her thighs. She turned back around and picked up the sniper she had set to the side, hoping to forget what she was just thinking and how weak Rachel sounded. Moving to the edge of the three story building's roof, she got down on her knees and swung the long barrel over the ledge. Below was a small gathering of what the world was plagued with.

Zombies.

* * *

Another report ricocheted off the surrounding Lima structures. The targeted zombie crumpled to the street, half of his decayed head blown clean away. Quinn sat back from leaning forward into the scope of the sniper, blowing air up into the hair that had fallen into her eyes. It was the last of the small gathering but in a few hours, more would find their way to them, and if not them, then some other survivors. It seemed if she could push away the immediate fright of their situation, then she would end up thinking about people she didn't even know were out there and how they were faring.

To Quinn, if two high school girls- a prim, proper, immaculate singer and a rebellious, angry, punk delinquent- could survive, so could anyone else. Besides, their weapons and stock were dropped off after Quinn flagged down a loaded helicopter in the first week. There were people out there, struggling to survive, fight the infection, save others.

To say things got worse from there would be hard to say, but they did.

The airman that was dropped off with them from the local base was infected, unbeknownst to everyone. He suffered a bite to the calf after plowing through a mob but in fear of being blown to bits, "conveniently" forgot the wound. The short span of time before he died was spent teaching only Quinn about the small range of weapons gifted to them. Rachel refused. She could stomach even holding a pistol. Quinn took it upon herself and thankfully, was a quick study. She could chalk some of it up to knowing she had to fight for her life as well as Rachel's, and tried to find some shred of anger that she had to cover Berry's ass… but none was there. She knew she wanted to protect her.

When the airman finally died, abrupt and appearing to just rest his eyes, and the few minutes it took for him to turn, Quinn was loading a M9 in order to occupy herself. He awoke with a new feverish behavior, so new, no noise could reach his vocal chords and he was silent as he prowled Quinn.

Zombies, as it turned out, were of average speed when first turned, and he advanced quickly on her. Rachel's scream saved Quinn's life, and upon turning around, Quinn changed her own with the first shot of a gun she ever took.

One round to his forehead.

"Quinn?" Rachel's soft came from behind, through the haze of a reverie.

Quinn looked over her shoulder, lowering the muzzle of the sniper. Rachel stood uncertainly behind her, still wearing the same plaited skirt and long-sleeved Oxford button up, her eyes dull. Quinn hated seeing that, to see the girl's eyes already mirroring her defeat, so she didn't look directly at them. She stared at her nose, her mouth, and fought down any sort of feelings that cropped up at weird times, covering it with a layer of disdain she used to reserve for the girl in high school.

"Perhaps we should go downstairs?"

That was an idea. Quinn bit her lip and looked out over the empty street, grateful to be looking elsewhere. Not a single living thing besides the two of them could be seen. The pinkette stood, dropping the sniper down to one hand, and turned to Rachel. She couldn't keep up that "disdain" she thought she had stored to be taken out when needed, and gave a half-hearted smile, nodding. She moved over to the lawn chair, set the sniper down, and picked up the same M9 she used against the airman, popping the cartridge and checking the magazine. When she looked behind, Rachel was still standing by the edge of the roof, her hands together at her stomach, picking at her cuticles no doubt. She didn't seem to be staring at Quinn, just zoning out with a blank expression. Quinn palmed the cartridge back into its slot.

"Stay on the roof, Rachel," Quinn instructed firmly. No response. "Okay?"

"Okay."

Quinn hesitated, and then stepped around the chair, heading for the door leading back into the building. A key sat on a brick near the door. They couldn't chance the metal door downstairs somehow breaking from a couple zombies and then literally leaving the next door open for them. Quinn unlocked the door with a forced obliviousness to her shaking hands, set the key back down on the brick, and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. She didn't bother glancing back to know Rachel was watching her. She knew the singer was afraid of never seeing her again. Or worse— having to kill her. She knew because she felt the same way.

Quinn would never let that happen though. She would never leave Rachel to fend for herself and there was nothing in existence that could. Quinn was the only thing keeping Rachel alive and like hell Quinn would die before her.

* * *

**Revised.**

**-x**


	2. Chapter II

_**Chapter II**_

* * *

The stairs down to the second floor were short but dark. Electricity had obviously been tampered with since the infection spread.

Quinn felt along the wall on the right side of her as she traveled carefully down the black steps, musing that this must be what it's like to be blind. There was a small slit of light coming from beneath the roof door as the sun rose but it wasn't nearly enough to guide her. The gun in her hand slid against the wall with a dull drag. Her index finger remained hooked on the trigger like a safety blanket. She fought to keep her breathing under control, telling herself there were no zombies in the stairwell, that there should be none on the second floor at all, but that the dark was a natural phobia and if one wasn't careful, they could go insane.

The last step brought Quinn safely to the landing. She took a bold step forward, reaching out with her free hand, staggering a little at not having to step down another step. Familiar metal met her fingers and she slid across the rough surface, sightlessly searching for the knob until she found it. Licking her lips and taking another shuddering breath, Quinn turned the knob slowly, and then all at once, whipped open the door.

The pinkette hadn't been aware that her eyes were so wide in the dark. The change in lighting, with the windows on the far left side of the room allowing the morning bright in, caused her to blink furiously. A gasp caught in her throat. After a few seconds, she finally calmed, lowering the M9 she raised in case of an undead charging to meet her. There were no zombies on this floor. Quinn was right. She growled in the back of her throat and ran a hand through her dyed bangs, flicking them uncaringly to the side, feeling idiotic for being so scared. Scared wasn't in her nature; it wasn't even in her vocabulary, but this damn… apocalypse was opening her to things she thought she safely buried away or ignored, including feelings and unprecedented worries.

The second floor was the storeowner's apartment, above his coffee shop, the Lima Bean to be exact. It looked like a regular, albeit slightly scarce, apartment with a living room and a door off to the side of the kitchen that could be a bathroom. The thought of a nice shower was alluring but Quinn had to remember that if the power didn't work, neither would the water.

Quinn switched on the gun's safety and stuck it in the back of her cargo pants. She made for the refrigerator quickly but was sorely reminded _again_ that the power was out when she flung open the door to a dark, hardly cool and smelling inside. She coughed and scrunched her nose before taking the obvious offenders, mostly dairy products, and bringing them to the kitchen window.

When she opened the window and deposited the old products, something caught her eye. There was a scuffling by the side of the building, a bit of movement. Taking the M9 back from her waistband, she looked directly down from the sill.

"Shit," Quinn hissed. She didn't bother using the rounds in her handgun to off the four zombies writhing against the brick wall, looking up at her with white, milky eyes and gaping mouths in need for flesh and blood. She must've attracted them when she dumped the refrigerator's contents and the noise alerted them to the warmth and life above them. She stepped from the window and shut it, and though it was impossible for zombies to climb, as well as manually function in every way a human could, she locked the window. It felt like the right thing to do.

Back at the refrigerator, she searched for provisions that could pass as edible. It was after some desperate scrambling that the reason behind the lack of food was because it was all downstairs, on the first floor. The unsecured floor. It was the storefront, with everything a small shop needed. And what they needed.

A flashlight. She needed a flashlight. Quinn began to open the kitchen drawers, pulling up empty until a drawer nearest to the wall where the locked metal door, for security after late hours for the storeowner, was located. There were three flashlights, some lighters, a phone book, pencils, pens, paper, a filer, and other oddities. Picking up one of the flashlights, she made a mental note to come back and stock on the belongings. They needed them. After switching the power button on and off a couple times, testing its durability, she deemed it fit and neared the metal door.

When she pressed her ear to the door and waited, there were no sounds of shuffling or groaning, spitting, hissing, or any movement in the stairwell. Quinn held the flashlight in her left hand, her right hand rearming itself with the triggered M9, and hesitantly unlocked the deadbolt. Turning the switch in the knob, the door was now completely unlocked, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Using the hand with the flashlight, her gun raised, the former-blonde swung open the door. Her hands came together in a fashion like a cop's; the flashlight atop the gun, she aimed the beam of light wildly in the dark a few swings before affirming there were no zombies in the stairwell either. Her heart was pounding against her ribs. She gave a chuckle, utterly humorless, and began to descend the stairs, her loud breathing the only noise accompanying her footfalls. It was easier and quicker with the flashlight, but it was just as hard as any other door to open the one to the ground floor, if not more.

* * *

Quinn found it strange that when she finally steeled herself and entered the coffee shop, there were no bodies lurking. The panoramic windows at the front of the shop were noticeably cracked, like someone had fallen against them, and there was blood smeared across the floor. Outside… was chaotic and she kept her eyes from becoming distracted on the carnage too long. She bolted for the doors instead, locking the glass door and then reinforcing it by flipping a table against it, jamming a leg underneath the door knob.

There was a dripping noise from behind the counter. Quinn turned quickly, gun perched, and slowly walked towards the kitchen area of the shop, where she assumed the disturbance was located. Her hazel eyes were exceptionally bright, scanning constantly for the slightest movement.

There had to have been some sort of exchange or battle or panic in the shop. Most of the chairs and tables were broken or knocked over, the glass display case for all the foods and selections shattered, and the floor was sticky with one person's heavy bleeding, sugar, coffee and jelly. Quinn moved around the counter, her gun guiding her. Looking for the source of the dripping, her eyes landed on a broken cream dispenser, and with no power, the cream was actually no longer _cream_ but some milky, watery substance. It dripped from a snapped nozzle, pooling on the counter and overflowing to the floor. When Quinn looked at the floor however, she noticed blood stains and splatters abruptly changed into a path like the victim was suddenly drug across the tile.

Guards up again, Quinn followed the blood trail, every wire in her body buzzing with fear and adrenaline, all of her senses nearly fried from straining to pick up every minute detail. She licked her chapped lips and followed the trail to a small hallway, where the end could not been seen, shadowed in darkness.

Pressing on the button of the flashlight, she raised it slowly, expecting but also not expecting, and froze.

Raising its head into the light, with one yellowed, decaying eye missing, its other slipping around its socket to the girl, a zombie snarled. It abandoned whatever remains of a human it was feasting on and stood brokenly. Blood caked its jaw, dripping from slimy teeth. It was a fresh zombie, with a complete body and the basic functions of a human. Without warning, it rushed, fleshy fingers reaching up for Quinn, mouth open in invite.

Quinn couldn't pull the trigger.

The zombie neared.

She failed Rachel.

Blood thundered behind her eyes, almost waiting to be spilt.

A gun report deafened Quinn. The zombie didn't give another sound. Her body was slammed against a wall, narrowly avoiding the zombie as it collapsed and slid across the grimy floor. Her lungs screamed for air she wouldn't give.

Rachel held Quinn's body against the wall, a hot M9 in her hand. She was breathing erratically while the pinkette wasn't at all. Looking up at her, the brunette saw the paralyzing fear reflected in her spaced eyes.

"Quinn," Rachel croaked. She swallowed. She grabbed Quinn's collar and gently rocked her. Seeing her unresponsive, feeling her not even breathe, freaked her out more than the fact she just killed her first zombie. "Quinn, breathe."

Quinn's gaping mouth suddenly snapped closed and she breathed longingly through her nose. She inflated like there wasn't a breath left inside her and finally, she released it through her mouth, effectively relaxing her rigid body. Her eyes moved down to Rachel, focusing and recognizing.

"Twice."

Rachel tilted her head to the side, lost. At the very least, Quinn was trying to speak. She felt warmth return to her fingers, the gun strange in her hand.

"Twice you've saved my life," Quinn repeated, eyes scanning the shorter girl's face like she was looking for something. Rachel wanted to know what was being sought but for once, was at a loss for words.

Simultaneously, they embraced, Quinn's arms encasing Rachel's shoulders, Rachel's arms wounding around Quinn's ribs tightly. It was still odd hugging one another when they tried most of their lives knowing each other to keep a distance as much as possible.

Somewhere in their closeness, Rachel murmured, her mouth moving against rough fabric of the former-Cheerio's punk top.

"Whatever it takes."

* * *

**Revised!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Rachel used a broom to shove debris away to the wall. The bristles stuck on the several layers of grunge and gore but she prevailed nonetheless. The butt of the M9 stuck out of the waistband of her skirt, safety on. Quinn made sure when she was preparing to search the rest of the rooms, not wanting to come back with Rachel having shot her own leg.

"We're clear," Quinn's voice rang out. Rachel started at the sound but kept clearing the floor. "I had to barricade the back windows. I saw some zombies around the side this morning from the second floor."

Rachel nodded, resting the broom on the wall so she could move an upright table away. Quinn pursed her lips at Rachel's solitude but didn't push it. It was enough the singer had saved her life again but what she mumbled into her shoulder still touched her.

_Whatever it takes._

Quinn set her handgun on a clean part of the counter before finding a less than dirty rag. She began to clear away the broken glass and wash off the bloody fingerprints. It was disgusting really, and the cream was getting moldy so it smelled even more like decease. Quinn cleaned the counters the best she could but there was still a drip from the creamer and it was really becoming a nuisance…

Rachel shrieked when she heard a crash. Spinning around, hands on her holstered gun, she saw Quinn standing in the kitchen. She was breathing heavily- agitatedly. Across the room, a broken piece of machinery cracked the wall. A white substance was leaking out from it but there was suddenly no other noise besides Quinn's breathing. The drip she hadn't noticed before was gone.

Quinn was angry. No, she was bi-polar. She went through different emotions almost every day. Rachel watched as one day, Quinn was compassionate and took care of Rachel like she was a child. The next day she was angry, like so, and spent most of the day waiting to snipe a zombie that would just peek around a corner. There were even some days Quinn would be scared and sad. She would stay balled up on the ground, back to Rachel, and not move. The one time Rachel tried to comfort her; Quinn shouldered her away but not before Rachel saw the tears on her face.

"I wonder if the others are still alive," Rachel said without realizing why. Her voice sounded distant.

Quinn turned to Rachel. There was a strange spark in her hazel eyes that made Rachel want to fidget under her gaze. Then Quinn was back to cleaning the counters, a tinkling of glass hitting the floor interrupting the taut silence.

"Do you not wonder about Santana and Brittany?"

"Yes, of course I do!" Quinn snapped. She slapped the rag down and leaned on both hands against the edge of the counter, chewing her lip. Rachel licked the salt of sweat and tears from hers.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said softly after a few silent beats.

Quinn shook her head. "Don't be. Santana can take care of herself and there's not a chance in hell that she wouldn't protect Brittany with everything she is."

The former blonde cheerleader now polar opposite refused to look at Rachel. She stayed at the counter, staring at the surface as though it had the answers they needed written somewhere on it. Rachel dropped her hands from the gun she was prepared to trigger and looked around. The two weeks they spent atop the building and not a sign of anybody doing the same. Where could they be? What if they were dead… or changed?

"Rachel, come find something to eat," Quinn said, more of a command than a suggestion. She was already rummaging through the broken display case for food that could be salvaged. Rachel abandoned her broom post and entered the kitchen, making for the cupboards.

"Cell phones do not work, do they?"

"No. No power, no towers for signals."

Rachel nodded to no one in particular and began to move things from the cupboards to the counters. She sifted through a few items and when they deemed something not edible, they tossed it to the side. The rest, they compiled by the display case.

Quinn gasped suddenly. Rachel turned to her as Quinn raised a finger on her left hand to her mouth. Stepping close, Quinn suckled her finger for a second before releasing it. There was a small gash on the tip of her finger from the glass.

Rachel swallowed. Her mouth went dry. She took Quinn's hand and looked at the slit in her skin, watching blood bead to the surface. Quinn watched her questioningly until Rachel met her eyes.

Her eyes. Rachel's eyes. They were shimmering. They weren't the dull brown Quinn noticed once and didn't want to the see again. They were alive again, shimmering with water that brimmed her lashes. Was she going to cry?

"It's just a cut," Quinn said, taking her hand from Rachel's though everything inside her told her not to.

"What if you're infected?"

Quinn paused. She didn't blink. Then a small smile broke across her lips.

"It was glass from the display case. Do you see any blood around it? I was wiping some away and was careless. I'll be fine, Rachel. Besides, I'd sooner chop off my finger than turn into a zombie. I can't leave you."

Rachel looked into her eyes, a strange expression crossing her features.

"You can't… leave me?"

A muscle in Quinn's jaw jumped. She scoffed suddenly and turned away.

"Yeah, without me, I doubt you'd survive long."

Rachel gave a soft "oh" and turned back around, moving to the cupboards again. As she pulled down bags of coffee beans, she glanced at Quinn. The rebel was throwing molding brownies with too much dairy in them across the room, not looking while she did. She was hunched over, her pink hair falling over her cheeks, and as Rachel watched, Quinn brushed the hair aside tersely. The pink girl was dressed in a torn, dirty band t-shirt that was a bit too short with a studded jean vest with too many chains over it. Her cargo pants were tucked into heavy black combat boots that weren't even properly tied, let alone the one with a red bandana tied around the cuff.

Leaving her things, Rachel knelt beside Quinn just as the pinkette swished her hair from her eyes again.

"What are you doing?" Quinn said, trying to move her boot away.

"Stop, just give me a minute," Rachel said, grabbing the boot and pulling it back. Quinn looked down with furrowed brows as Rachel untied the bandana from the boot, tucked the laces inside, and then stood. She shook out the bandana, then refolded it, and raised it around Quinn's head. Realizing, Quinn's hard eyes softened, watching Rachel bite the inside of her cheek as she pulled most of Quinn's dyed hair back and tied the bandana around her head. When she finished, she stepped back from standing on her tip-toes and smiled.

"Thank you." Quinn returned the small smile and then turned back to the display case, moving around the remnants again without her hair to bother her.

Quinn really did look nice with pink hair…

* * *

**A/N: I know there wasn't much to this chapter, but I've been told to include the others, especially Brittany and Santana... I was just knitting in the idea of finding them. I guess this chapter was also worked to display their emotions all the better and build on their friendship. Even show what Rachel was thinking.**

**Anyways, I'm working on the next couple chapters and things are _definitely_ gonna pick up. I'm also a bitch so... ;)**

**-x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Now that the two girls had secured their building, reinforcing all exits and entrances, they could safely and comfortably sleep on the second floor. Quinn immediately offered the bed to Rachel.

"Quinn," Rachel started, circling the bed. The window behind her was dark. They had spent the entire day cleaning and salvaging what was available from downstairs. Quinn stopped in the doorway. She was going to bunk on the couch and was just leaving when Rachel spoke up.

"I don't think… I can sleep without you." Rachel's eyes grew wide then and she hastily added, "Without you in the same room! I mean, I would be too scared if you weren't where I could see you…"

Quinn smiled serenely. She moved back to the bed, took one of the pillows, and brought it over to a chair in the corner of the room, right in Rachel's sight from where she would lay. She found a blanket in the same closet and curled up in the chair, twisting the blanket around her to keep warm. Rachel was satisfied, giving a slight smile. She took the gun out of the waistband of her skirt, checked the safety, and then set it on the nightstand. It was getting really dark in the room and it made Rachel uneasy.

As if by knowing how she felt, Quinn got back up from her spot in the chair and went back into the living room. She brought the couple duffel bags given to them from the helicopter into the bedroom and rummaged through one where she had stashed the flashlights she found earlier. She took one out and walked over to Rachel's side. She flicked it on for Rachel to see, and then set it on the nightstand as well. Rachel turned it off as Quinn resettled in her chair. The last sound of the night was Quinn checking the safety of her gun and setting it on the dresser near her head.

* * *

"_Quinn!_"

It was a scream.

Quinn jolted awake, a flashlight magically appearing in her hands, but there was nothing in the dim room besides a pale figure sitting up in bed. Quinn leaped out of her chair, dropping the flashlight as she did, and joined Rachel on the bed. The small singer had just awoken, damp with cold sweat, panting. She had had a nightmare. She clutched with white knuckles at Quinn's clothing, pulling herself into the embrace Quinn was providing. The pinkette began to rock her, always like before, and played with her long chocolate tresses, actually whispering soothing things to the girl this morning, not like before. Rachel gave a choked sob and Quinn could feel the tears falling on her chest.

"W-what if I d-didn't save you-you," Rachel cried.

Quinn stalled, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth. Tears were beginning to prick at her eyes but she had fight them and remain strong because Rachel depended on her to be both of their supports.

"Don't think about that, Rach," Quinn cooed. She absently massaged the back of the girl's head.

"I'm so scared," Rachel said breathlessly between sobs. She was speaking into Quinn's neck.

"I am too," Quinn admitted after a moment. There was no use in lying. "But we have to be brave, as shitty as that sounds."

Rachel barked a laugh.

"We'll find the others, I promise."

"What if w-we find them- n' they're turned?"

Quinn put her mouth to the top of Rachel's head, clenching her eyes shut to stop the tears. The idea of San or Brit or Sam or anyone- it was too much. And she might be able to snipe zombies but there was no way she could kill any of them.

"Don't think about it," Quinn said quietly into Rachel's hair.

"What do you think happened to Finn?" Rachel said after a few beats, her voice so low it was hardly audible.

Quinn's throat constricted. Finn was going to have to be brought up sooner or later. They were engaged after all. But Quinn didn't want to think about that. She didn't want to think about Finn. Before, she didn't even want to think about Rachel because it hurt too much. To see someone as promising and bright and beautiful as Rachel want to seal herself to Finn's name forever, a man, no a _boy_, who would only cause her to sink; it was heartbreaking. In more ways than one. Anyone could feel heartbroken over a woman worth a million marrying a man who was like a scam. For Quinn, it was that and heartbreaking because Quinn was the one Rachel was supposed to be with. It was supposed to be that way since they first met. Quinn wouldn't weigh Rachel down; she would lift her higher. She would help her reach her dreams. She would strive to continue to make her the better person Rachel wanted to be. And no one else could see that. No one else thought the way Quinn did. No one thought Rachel should be Quinn's. Only Quinn did. And it scared her. Scared her more than the god-damn apocalypse.

What frightened her more was the idea of Rachel surviving this with Finn. She was glad Rachel was with her. She wouldn't want her with anyone else… in the matter. She would protect her with her life, not something Quinn could see Finn _vowing_ to do. Hearing Rachel this morning, calling her name in a shriek, terrified what would have happened if she hadn't saved her for the second time; she was Quinn's heart. Now hearing that her thoughts are on Finn and probably have been most of the time; it was like Rachel was walking out of her body, leaving her in agony and without air.

"He will be fine," Quinn finally croaked, after emerging from her thoughts. As much as Quinn disliked the boy, as much as she hated seeing Rachel with him, as much as he deserved a smack to his face to put his head on straight- no one deserved to die like this. And if there was any way to stop Rachel from crying, to feel better, to help her, Quinn would pray Finn was alive and safe.

There was only one way to find out and it was to find the others.

* * *

**A/N: I know I've played it safe these past 4 chapters, but as a review once said (and made me laugh) 'can't wait till shit hits the fan!' and that's exactly what will happen next chapter. Yes, I've already typed out the next chapter. ;) Again, I'm a bitch. I know.**

**I've had several other reviews:**

~ _ShadowCub_ 6/10/12 . chapter 3

Rachel needs to wake up she is gonna get Quinn killed.

Don't add anyone else, what are the odds of them finding any of their friends, they need to find a brick warehouse to cler out, sweet story, I love zombies.

~ _Lcrazemag_ 6/9/12 . chapter 3

If you include other characters, that will not only make your summary invalid, it will make your entire story exactly like every other Faberry zombie fic. Try something different mate. You've got something interesting going with the dynamic you've built, of Quinn wanting to protect Rachel, and Rachel needing to protect Quinn when her emotions go haywire. Bringing in other characters will distract from that.. and make this unoriginal. But that's just my opinion... lol. Its also super unlikely that they would find the others but that happens in EVERY SINGLE ZOMBIE FIC EVER. trust me, I live for these fics. Just look at my profile, ive read them haha.

**I've been messing with the idea of finding some of the others, especially San and Brit. I have taken everyone's reviews into consideration, believe me. I just thought that if San and Brit were to come into the story, they would be too busy protecting them two to worry about our Faberry two. And they could potentially split ways considering how much Quinn and Santana butt heads and have such different views. **

**But who knows... Oh, wait. I do. ;) You all will just have to read and review to find out what happens in the next coming chapters, where shit WILL hit the fan!**

**-x**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

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Rachel woke first. She was surprised when she opened her bleary eyes that she was reclining beside Quinn who was partially leaning against the headboard of the bed. She raised her head off of Quinn's chest, the rough feel of dense fabric imprinted on her cheek from the rebel's jean jacket, and looked at the arms that loosely circled her; the hands that lightly palmed her arm and back, the fingers that touched just the tips to her body. Tilting her head up, she saw how the pinkette was laying, her neck craned uncomfortably but the cramp lost in the peaceful expression of sleep on her face. Her bandana had come undone through the night and just sat on a nest of hair. There was a bloody smear on her cheekbone, very faint, but nevertheless there, and it reminded Rachel the predicament they were in.

Carefully and after some time, Rachel managed to slip out of Quinn's arms and off the bed without waking her. She stood in the quiet bedroom uncertainly for a moment before moving to the window. Pushing aside the curtain, she gasped audibly at the mass of zombies that accumulated on the street, based on the mere sense of human flesh.

The gasp was enough to wake Quinn.

"Rachel?" Quinn started. She sat up abruptly, her eyes wide and red. She looked half frightened and half angry. Rachel stepped from the window but Quinn was quicker and was at her side, grabbing her wrist in a moment.

"What's wrong?"

"I was just… surprised," Rachel stuttered, gesturing to the window.

Quinn pursed her lips and looked at Rachel for a second with hard eyes before moving to the window. With a hand, she pushed the curtain aside to look down at the street.

"There's more than usual. They're massing."

Quinn stepped from the window, a faraway look on her features.

"What are you thinking of, Quinn?" Rachel said, stepping forward and tilting her head down in attempt to cross Quinn's zoned gaze. The brunette was still quieter and downtrodden, so unlike her typical Rachel Barbara Berry behavior. The new behavior didn't quite catch Quinn's attention as well and Rachel didn't say anything else to attract the other's awareness.

"I think we have the ammo to take them out but that doesn't leave us with much after," Quinn stated suddenly. She began to pace, the loose laces and a chain on her combat boots slapping as she walked. One hand was in the air, waving softly as she though she was conducting to something inside her head. Rachel sat on the end of the bed, hands in her lap, and watched, letting Quinn think in silence. After a few more moments, Quinn spoke again.

"We could burn them- I think that's effective…"

"With what?" Rachel said, perking up, brows furrowing.

"Fire bottles," Quinn said, still pacing and not looking at Rachel. She gestured with both hands, making a cup and pretended to stick something inside the imaginary cup. "We could pour alcohol in bottles, sticks rags in the nozzles, and light them. Fire bottles. They break, the alcohol flies all over the undeads, the alcohol catches fire, and they burn."

"It concerns me you know how well to create this arsenal," Rachel said with true emotion.

Quinn finally stopped and turned to Rachel. There was a wicked smirk on her lips.

"It should."

The rebel then crossed the room to the duffle bags. She slung all three of the black bags over her shoulders. She waved an elbow around the room.

"Search the room. Grab anything you think we need: flashlights, money, knives… car keys. Anything useful."

While Rachel began to rummage the small bedroom, Quinn brought the duffle bags into the middle of the living room. She dropped them and then made for the kitchen, beginning a search of her own. She scrounged through drawers, cupboards, cabinets, and containers, salvaging the best of the knives, some dollar bills, batteries, paper and pens, a couple bags of snacks, and a few oddities.

As Quinn noisily searched the living room, Rachel overturned the bedroom. She found a stash beneath the mattress, grabbing the couple hundred dollars. There was a pocketknife in the bedside table, she stole the batteries out of the remotes and clocks, and then grabbed a sweatshirt from the closet. There wasn't much else to find in the small bedroom, and avoiding the window, the mass teeming outside beginning to gnaw on her sensitive nerves, she left the room. Quinn was placing everything she was finding on the coffee table beside the duffle bags so she did the same. She stopped the pinkette for a moment to hand the gun Quinn forgot atop the dresser.

"Where are you going to find the alcohol? And the bottles?" Rachel said, following Quinn back into the ruined kitchen.

Quinn stooped beside the refrigerator, opening a cabinet. With both hands, she began to pull out bottle after bottle of alcohol, not peroxide, but actual alcohol, most of the selection of pure filtration. Standing with a triumphant smile, Quinn threw open a drawer and pulled out a stack of rags. Taking a knife she had found, Quinn began to cut the rags into thin strips to stuff into bottle nozzles.

"Here," Quinn said, turning to Rachel with two bottles held by the necks. "Save these. Put these with the bags."

It was bottle of Captain Morgan's and Grey Goose. Rachel took them but without moving for the bags. She stared at the bold labels and tried finding something wrong with stealing the alcohol… but couldn't find any. With the way the world was spiraling down, Rachel couldn't find a reason why they would get in trouble for drinking underage, or worse yet, why it wouldn't _not_ be expected.

"Rachel, if we don't drink them, no one will," Quinn jibed from behind. Rachel nodded subconsciously and motioned to bring them to the coffee table.

Quinn worked for several minutes, tearing the rags into strips enough for 20 to 30 bottles. Finding the case of beer in the refrigerator would work the least, the both of them emptied the dark liquid into the sink before funneling the more pure alcohol into the glass bottles. They filled the bottles until they were a quarter filled, and then Quinn took them to stuff the rag strips into the nozzles. She made sure the ends of the rags dipped in the alcohol to better light the rest on fire and then set them to the side to take the next.

They ran out of bottles before rag strips.

"I guess this is the best we can do," Rachel said, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. All the work was actually _work_ and her hairline was beaded with sweat, not to mention the occasional splash of liquids.

"Get some lighters and let's head upstairs," Quinn said, nodding her head at the bags. They hurriedly stashed their collection in the duffel bags before Quinn collected the fueled bottles in her arms. They found some lighters and the two girls ascended to the roof once more.

Once on top, they both wrinkled their noses, expressions of disgust on their features. It seemed like the whole world reeked of decaying flesh. Shaking off the hindering stench, they reached the ledge where they once slept and Quinn had sniped. The crowd below on the street pushed against the side of the building and made no progress to getting closer to the pair. Quinn leaned over the side.

"They haven't broken the front windows yet though I bet they could with enough force."

"Even after we barricaded them?" Rachel said, fear creeping into her voice.

"The fresher and more complete the zombie, the more strength and vitality it seems. People who turned after, say, losing a limb or actually have been undead longer are not as _alive_," Quinn said grimly. "Ironically."

"So the movies were right…" Rachel trailed.

"What?" Quinn took a bottle and a lighter, not bothering to look up as the other spoke.

"Well, Dawn of the Dead was a little over the edge, what with zombies full on sprinting after speeding cars," Rachel said, beginning a rant. Her eyes scanned over the mass. "I mean, zombies are people that died and came back to life, but are still dead and therefore decaying. So it would be _plausible_ for them to run- but to sprint? Wouldn't they just deteriorate at the speed of which they are pushing themselves? And what is their fuel? Recycled proteins and nutrients and sugars from flesh they consume? That is not enough for them to drive them to sprint. And have you noticed they never pass their waste? That would just cause them to explode. And if they were able to leak the flesh they consume, through a hole in their gastric channels perhaps, then the fuel they need to keep not living would never- what?"

Quinn was watching Rachel intently with a soft smile and light eyes. She was sitting on the ledge with a leg hanging over the side of the building, the bottle and lighter forgotten in her hands. She had the appearance she wasn't even paying attention to what Rachel was ranting about. Just watching.

"It's just nice to hear the normal you," Quinn said. "Even if it is annoying."

Rachel pinched her lips, fighting a blush, and turned curtly to grab a bottle. She took a lighter of her own, flicked the dial a few times, caught a flame, and touched it to the rag. The rag took fire at once and began to burn, and without hesitation, Rachel slung it into the street.

The bottle cracked against one zombie's head. The container shattered and its contents splayed across a range of zombies, the fire combusting an entire section of bodies on fire. The way the zombies reacted, you would expect they were still human. A few began to scream, probably the more fresh bodies, and others writhed, trying to escape the flames that clung to their dry skin. By moving, and even a few running, others began to catch fire. Cries and groans and panicking zombies filled the streets. Quinn and Rachel took a surprised step back and stood in awe at Rachel's action, watching the fire spread. After a few minutes, zombies began to drop, and the previously dead zombies that Quinn had shot began to burn up. The smell was acrid, filling the two Lima students' nostrils with no chance of abandon, and plumes of black smoke began to rise high into the air. If that wasn't a signal, nothing was.

Then the real trouble began.

"Oh no," Quinn breathed. Rachel followed her eyes. A lit zombie had crashed into a car and lay on top of the hood. The weight of the body and the crash and then the fire weakening the metal, the hood was going to cave in.

"I don't think we thought the fire bottles all the way through…" Rachel said in the same low and breathy behavior.

On cue, another zombie crashed into a newsstand a few buildings down and the entire stand was lighting up, ashes rising into the air like bright fireflies in the morning. Quinn looked down at the bottle in hand and licked her lips, her mind reeling on what to do next. They had way too many bottles to just throw away. They needed to salvage them. To save them if they needed them later. They could pour the alcohol back into the bottles using the funnel and stock the rags, but that would take time, and looking back across the street to where the burning zombie lay on the car… time wasn't rooting for them.

"Rachel, look at me," Quinn said urgently. She turned to Rachel. "We have to try and save the fire bottles but we have to get ready to leave."

"What?" Rachel said, panic apparent in her wide doe eyes and the way her voice cracked.

"The car. It's going to explode and once it explodes, the next one will, and then the next. If we don't get a move on, we won't survive this-"

Quinn hated what she was going to say next.

"-and if we don't survive this, you won't see Finn. Ever. We have to go. We found the owner's keys. His car's behind the building. We can find the others. We just have to go now and we have to keep as many of the bottles as we can."

"Quinn-!" Rachel whined, unsure of what to actually say. Tears were brimming in her eyes out of sheer fright and she wasn't moving, frozen to the spot.

"Rachel, you have to help me!" Quinn said, pushing Rachel's shoulder. The brunette was not responding.

The roof beneath them rocked violently then and everything was piercingly loud. Quinn felt a sharp pain in her hip and the side of her head, and idly wondered when she started seeing everything vertically and why Rachel was scrambling… to her feet? There was a high-pitched ringing in her ears and bits and pieces of rock and metal were falling around them, some ash floating around Quinn's head. She looked to Rachel, seeing the tears streaming her dirty cheeks, and saw her mouth moving, but couldn't hear her. The bottle and lighter were missing from her hands and slowly swiveling her head upwards on the unforgiving cement, saw the missing objects a few feet from where they have obviously been knocked to the ground. The bottle was broken, a dark stain on the concrete. Quinn pushed herself up and began to move lethargically to the edge of the roof, the ringing and her breathing all she could hear in her shell-shocked head.

The street was decimated, the car was dismantled and blown apart, and fragments of concrete, metal, wood, glass, and other materials rained on them. The mass of zombies had disappeared. But the fire was spreading.

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**A/N: What was that I said would happen? "Shit will hit the fan"? WHY YES IT HAS. But as one reviewer pointed out... it's the fucking zombie apocalypse. The shit's hit the chimney. **

**Feedback saves a species of insects! (just kidding, just trying to advertise and I fail miserably)**

**-x**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

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It was like someone had freeze-framed them and was playing the world on a slow tempo. Quinn's breathing was slow though she felt the burn in her lungs, and it was loud. She sounded like she was breathing inside her head. She tried to move fast but her legs were heavy and she wasn't making much progress. Neither was Rachel. It was like slow motion how they approached the edge of the roof and only when they had finally stopped and watched the fire crawling, in the strangest indolent procession, did it seem like someone finally pressed play.

Ash was falling like a light snow. A few embers drifted around and stung whenever they touched exposed skin, which Rachel found soon enough. With a small yelp, she yanked her hand into her button up sleeve. Quinn sucked air through her teeth when the slight burn touched the base of her neck. The line of buildings nearest the car explosion had suffered the most damage. The store front windows were completely blown from their frames, fragmented into a blanket of glitter along the sidewalk. The asphalt cracked where the car had been sitting, crunching into the ground. A part of a small store sagged and where it was exposed, a wooden beam was burning up, the fire licking the ceiling and making way to the next building. The columns of caustic black smoke whorled into the air, growing thicker with more fuel, and carried a smell of burned material and decayed flesh. It was becoming harder to breathe and Rachel lifted her arm to cover her nose and mouth with the crook of her elbow, her hand still tucked safely from the embers inside her sleeve cuff.

Quinn's eyes were beginning to water, and not from the panic flooding her chest, but the atmosphere. It was becoming increasingly dangerous atop their building and the fire was sure to consume their post if they didn't move soon and fast.

Rachel seized Quinn's arm with her free hand. Her face was beginning to collect grime and dust from the fire and debris but her tears cleared strange wet tracks down to her chin. She was more afraid than Quinn and though she had no idea what to do next, just grabbing the former cheerleader who used to seem to control the school assured her in reality. Quinn reflexively covered Rachel's stark knuckles with her opposite hand. Her mind was working rapidly, weighing their odds. There was no option to leave the bags. They needed them to survive. The fire bottles… they were going to have to ditch them.

"Rachel, we have to go now," Quinn said. She ripped Rachel's fingers from her arm and began to drag her towards the roof door.

"What about the bottles?" Rachel cracked. She coughed into her sleeve, the smog getting to her. Quinn had smoked enough cigarettes to withstand the level of smoke she was inhaling but Rachel had no tolerance and if enough fogged her lungs, she could pass out- or die.

"Get inside," Quinn suddenly instructed. She pushed Rachel towards the door. The brunette stumbled against the metal knob and looked uncertainly at the pinkette. Her eyes were turning red and still streamed tears. Quinn pointed at the door. "Get inside and get the bags. Take out your gun, go downstairs and out the back. Find the car."

Quinn pulled out the car keys from a pocket in her cargo pants. She tossed them at Rachel, who caught them against her chest. She gave a fleeting look with her swollen eyes before flinging open the door and descending. Quinn whirled around and bolted for the ledge. She grabbed the bottles that hadn't been knocked over by the explosion and gathered them in her arms. There was considerable amount wasted but Quinn took what she could get. She glanced in the street, searching for stranglers, but only briefly and then darted back for the door.

The door had locked.

"Shit, no!" Quinn strangled out. She twisted the resistant knob and shook the door in its jamb but it was surely locked. A bottle slipped and cracked against the cement, spilling over her boot. _That_ wasn't safe. Using the limited amount of range she could with the bottles in her arms, Quinn pounded a fist against the door. She called Rachel's name but after a precarious minute, there was no hearing the ex-Cheerio. The fire was gaining volume. The buildings groaned and whined under the assault of the arson. An ember landed on her open shoulder and she jerked at the contact, losing another bottle. It was no use.

Abandoning the bottles, she grabbed the knob for leverage and reared back. She slammed against the door with her shoulder and there was even a noise of complaint in the hinges, but after two more attempts, a sure bruise was forming and it was no use. The door was hardly any less loose in the frame and her shoulder ached. By epiphany, Quinn suddenly slapped her hands on her hips. She scrambled around, searching for the gun Rachel had given her that morning to blast the lock, but after a few frantic seconds… Quinn sighed resigningly, her eyes closing with defeat- she had set the M9 on the coffee table after Rachel had given it back to her. It was utterly careless of her. Real tears begin to form in her eyes. She looked back at the shop, now completely engulfed in angry fire, and the side of the next building was smoking, preparing to catch. As she looked at the building, she spotted the fire escape, melting and begin to fall off the side. Spinning back around behind her, she found the railings leading down the side of the back of her building. Unarmed but with no other choice, she ran for the fire escape.

Rachel wasn't in the alley way yet and down near the end was a boring gray four-seater car that looked like it had had its rounds. The zombies she had seen the other morning weren't lingering either, so that was a plus, but a noticeable layer of smoke was roiling along the ground. There was even a piece of metal that had flown over them and landed in the alley, chipping the next building. With literally no more time to waste, Quinn hoisted a leg over and found a bar. She grabbed the railings and brought her other leg around to the bar lower. Carefully but with urgency, she climbed down, reaching one fire escape landing, then the next, before the last one into the actual alley. If Rachel wasn't in the alley yet, the door had probably yet to be unlocked. With no way inside and no way of knowing if Rachel was alright, Quinn slid down the last ladder and lowered herself. She felt vulnerable and out in the open. She half expected a zombie to charge her again and even if she could react this time, she had no gun. Still with one hand on the ladder, she noticed the last bar she skipped was loose. Taking a firm hold on it, she fought it for a minute before breaking it completely off. She felt a little better and sensing she should put it to use, neared the back door. Raising the bar above her head, she began to slam down on the door relentlessly, trying to call Rachel's name but fearing it was lost in the noise.

There was no time when Quinn felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. Ducking, someone's arms swiped air above her. There was an inhuman growl. Gritting her teeth, Quinn blindly swung out. The bar struck against a body's chest, an audible crack resounding from the connect. Turning, a zombie was stumbling back, almost stunned, and then was charging. It was one of those fresh zombies that still had good mobility. Quinn choked on a yelp and backed away, swinging the bar again and connecting against its outstretched arm. Another crack echoed in the alley. It veered off course, its arm now dangling in an odd way like the girl had _broken_ it, and then ran forward again. Summoning the last of her courage, Quinn contorted her face and grabbed the zombie's shoulder as he became uncomfortably near. The bar raised above her head, she brought it down in an arc and the jagged end pierced the side of its head. Blood gushed across the bar and her hand, streaming down her forearm, but the zombie became immediately limp in her grasp and collapsed.

"Quinn!" Rachel screamed, running towards her from the back door. The duffle bags weighed her down and her mouth was gaping as she tried to breathe. Her long dark hair was flying behind her as Quinn noticed, a second undead leapt from behind the lone Dumpster in the alley and began for the scampering brunette.

"_No!_" Quinn screamed hysterically, her voice cracking on the peak. She surged forward. Rachel stopped running, confused, and then looked over her shoulder as the zombie made for her. It was aiming for Rachel, hands open for the defenseless singer, snarling in the back of its throat. Quinn ran like she had never ran before. Nothing pushed her like this. Nothing mattered as much as this. The thought of Rachel's tanned skin tearing underneath the zombie's relentless fingers was enough to drive Quinn to the brink of insanity and with that, she reached Rachel first, rushed past her, and slammed the bar against the side of the zombie's head at the same instant she slammed into it. Tripping, the wild girl flipped over the body that ceased the moment its skull caved into its contents. The shoulder she used against the door crunched against the pavement as she rolled over it, but better that than her neck, and she landed flat on her back, the air rushing out of her. It was all worthwhile. Coughing, dazed, and struggling to stand, Rachel abruptly fell to her knees beside her, dropping all their necessities, and grabbed Quinn by the neck. She pulled the rebel up to her knees and then against her, hugging when all Quinn needed to do was breathe. The brunette began to cry openly.

"You-you could have _died_-!" Rachel strained out between sobs. Slowly, Quinn rested her hands on Rachel's heaving back. "You saved me…" she finished in a small voice.

"If that's what it takes…" Quinn mumbled, shutting her eyes at the closeness of the girl she loved. "Then I'll keep fighting until we see the end of this."

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**A/N: If you haven't noticed, you should check my profile. There, I post updates (that clear every month to keep readers updated). If don't check, I'll just give you the most recent update.**

**The month is almost over, and with it, July comes and I'll be busy. There will be a little space between this chapter and the next! But you'll stay around for me, and if not me, then the story. (:**

**:**

**On another note, I got a nice review I would like to address:**

**~can'tloginfromphone 6/26/12 . chapter 5**

**Pinkette is not a word. It is a horrible way to describe someone with pink hair, and I shudder everytime I read it. Former blonde, ex-cheerio, Quinn, pink-haired girl, literlly anything is better than Pinkette. **  
**And "fire bottles"? A molotov cocktail is what you are talking about, and is what two teens in Ohio, USA would say, not "fire bottles" which sounds awkward and from a video game or something.**  
**Also "She began to pace, the loose laces and a chain on her combat boots slapping as she walked."**  
**Loose shoelaces seems like a great way to trip and fall into a hoard of zombies. But then again, Quinn thought a molotov cocktail would be a great idea, so I guess it's in character for this story. **  
**I do like this story, beyound a quibble here & there, and can't wait to see what happens next. **  
**Personally, I don't care about any of the other New Direction members except for Brittney and Santana. I read the review from someone else saying finding Brittney and Santana would be like all the Zombie!Fabarry stories out there...if that's a worry for you, then including Brittney's younger sister with them (and maybe Puck's younger sister, without Puck) would be a good way to be different. I have yet to see a Zombie!Glee story that has Puck's sister alive with Brittney & Santana along with Britt's sister, without Puck.**

**:**

**- I want to thank them for their constructive criticism but I have a few pointers.**

**1.) I am aware that pinkette is not a word but I am not the only who has used the term. Just like 'brun_ette_', 'ette' was just added to 'pink'.**

**2.) I have done some research and yes, they are called Molotov cocktails but are also called fire bottles as well, among other variations like alcohol bomb or Molotov bomb. It just depends on where you heard it and which variation.**

**3.) lol, good point. But I hardly think at a time like this, they think about tying their shoes.**

**4.) I like those ideas! Now you got me thinking. ;)**

**Sorry to have taken up some of your time but if you read everything, I greatly appreciate you!**

**-x.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

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"The car only has half a tank of gas," Quinn said once she accepted the keys from Rachel and turned on their vehicle.

Rachel nodded. She kept glancing forward at the open end of the alley, where dark smoke was rolling from the fire across the street. The sounds were frightening enough but the sight had to be worse. After Rachel stifled her crying and Quinn was able to swallow what air was available, they hurried to the car. They tossed all their belongings in the back of the car and climbed inside where Quinn recounted in cliff-notes version about the bottles and the locked rooftop door. Rachel listened intensely, her eyes abused and reflecting the anguish she felt for the former blonde before she dropped her head into her hands, rubbing her forehead. There was a layer of grime that partly cleared with her massaging fingers. Quinn could only image how she looked and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. Different parts of her body ached and some were even burned from the flying embers. Rachel mumbled an apology and Quinn waved it off, dismissing it as none of her fault and just their luck with how things were going.

"So," Quinn said, making sure the doors were locked. "Where… was Finn the last time you saw him?"

Rachel gulped and wiped at her swollen eyes. The fire was really getting to her and even her voice was starting to sound strained. It hurt Quinn to know her singing voice could be affected because of all this. Her voice was the world's saving grace and had to be shared. Hell, it was going to be shared- Quinn would make sure of that.

"I-I don't know," Rachel began to reply. "We-I was in the car with him and I… told him about us."

Quinn's heart jumped but she knew there was no reason for it to. Just a play of words on Rachel's part. What she was referring to… it was wrong. Since Quinn's days of not-giving-a-single-fuck, she had gone more out of her way to destroy others and by any means necessary. No one was her friend, not even the Skanks, a few girls like her that just hung around behind the bleachers to smoke with her.

"We were arguing," Rachel continued, looking down and shaking her head slightly, trying to recall. "I was defending you and he kept saying all these things- _hateful_ things. And I told him I would talk to you, to get the story straight, to prove what… you had done was not for the reasons he thought-" she started speaking faster as she came to the conclusion of what she remembered "-and he dropped me off at the end of the street, I didn't want to be in the car with him anymore- his mood was smothering. He didn't say where he was going."

"Look, Rachel," Quinn said. She pressed the brake and put the gear into drive. "We're going to go to Kurt's house. We're going to your house. We're going to my house and we'll go to _everyone's_ house. We'll find the others, I promise. I promised before and I keep my promises."

"What if they're not there?" Rachel finally looked up. "What if they're not at their house and no one's where we thought they would be? Where are we going to go?"

"We'll keep looking," Quinn said firmly.

"What about gas?"

"Let me worry about that. You seem to have a good hand with guns. Keep your M9 locked and loaded. Shoot what I can't run over."

With that, Quinn slammed on the petal. Rachel squealed as they peeled down the alley, the tensing smoke rolling over the windshield almost as though it were a solid. The sounds of the tires spinning on the asphalt screeched through the alley and into the street. Burning rubber amongst other burning materials permeated the air in the car. As they neared the opening, Quinn slammed on the brakes and jerked on the steering wheel. They whipped out into the open street, opposite of the fires that were spreading saliently. Rachel was gripping the car door pocket and the center console, completely bracing herself. Her blood-shot eyes were wide and fearful, her mouth open noiselessly, as Quinn sped off down the street. On the other hand, Quinn was smiling, enjoying a thrill she hadn't had the chance to experience in a few weeks. There was nothing for Rachel to be scared of- Quinn specialized in reckless and dangerous driving without accidents. She had done all this before. It was part of her new behavior as a carefree rebel.

* * *

They traveled through Lima until they reached Finn's house with little trouble. Only once did Quinn actually see a zombie where she promptly swerved and crushed the body beneath their tires. Rachel screamed but didn't yield her brace the entire duration until she recognized the street there were driving up. She let go immediately and sat forward, counting empty houses until they pulled up to Kurt's house, now Finn's.

All the lights were off and there wasn't a car in the driveway. Rachel unlocked her door and was about to jump out when Quinn practically dived across the console to keep the door from opening.

"What the hell are you doing?" She nearly yelled. Rachel looked stunned. "You didn't even check!"

Rachel sat back and let go of the door handle. Quinn took her gun from the console container where she had put it when Rachel had given it back to her. Turning off the safety and cocking it, she looked around for a few moments before turning off the car and unlocking her door. Rachel joined her and before words could be exchanged, they ran for the door. Expecting it to be locked, they were surprised when Rachel burst into the house.

"Rachel!" Quinn hissed, trying to keep her voice low but calling the brunette's attention. She grabbed the girl's wrist and pulled her back from the entryway. Shutting the door quietly behind them, Quinn rolled her eyes haughtily and sighed. She switched hands so she held onto Rachel's arm with her left and had her gun outstretched in her right. Slowly, they passed through the dark entryway, through the kitchen, and then into the living room.

There was an obvious struggle here. It looked like someone had broken through the back windows and attacked whoever was in the room, though there were no serious injuries with the lack of blood. Looking back at Rachel, she gave her a silent message before letting go. She put the safety back on, stuck the gun in her waistband, and then went for a bookcase. Rachel kept valiant watch as the pinkette pushed the bookcase to cover the opening in the window before there was another attack from the backyard. With that finished, Quinn took her gun back out and they started through the rest of the house.

After several fruitless minutes and every part of the house searched with no bodies or zombies, they met in the living room.

"Quinn," Rachel said suddenly, her voice wavering. She sounded scared and hesitant, like she didn't want to ask what she was about to. "What if they had turned and you shot them without knowing?"

"Unless they were the zombies we used our fire bottles on; it wasn't them," Quinn said like she had through of the same thing before. "I checked every face through the scope."

Rachel nodded and licked her lips before closing them. There was nothing left in the house. They didn't bother gathering necessities, they were okay with the luggage they had and didn't need to be encumbered. Quinn did take the time to go into the kitchen and use a rag and some lukewarm tap water to wash what dirtiness she could from her body, as did Rachel. With that finished, there was nothing left for them here.

* * *

They searched both Rachel's and Quinn's houses. They both turned out empty. Panic began to sink in without undead near. Their parents were missing. Their friends were missing. The two students were the only ones left driving around Lima. Rachel silently stifled her crying in the passenger seat as Quinn drove for an unknown destination. She even wanted pull over, turn off the car, and cry against the steering wheel, but she couldn't bring herself to accept that kind of defeat. Throughout the entire town of Lima, there were signs of the apocalypse. Other fires, car crashes, bodies, blood, putrid smells, broken windows, half-collapsed buildings, and so on. Quinn couldn't tell if she was becoming desensitized or… nope, she really was becoming numb to it all. It was just… _everywhere_.

They couldn't just turn around and go back to their coffee shop. It was probably burning up with half of Lima. The best they could do was find a new place and hole up there. And Quinn preferred a gas station.

"Rachel," Quinn choked out. Her throat was nearly constricted. "Rachel, I need you."

Rachel sniffed and looked up. She looked worse for the wear. She swiped at her chin idly with her sleeve.

"We're going to a gas station. We need gas and we need a place for tonight." The sky was beginning to darken, and actually, there were clouds on the horizon. There was no way they could sleep in the car, there wasn't room with the bags in the backseats. "You need to cover me while I get gas before we can fight out way inside."

Rachel merely nodded and took her gun from the car door pocket. She turned off safety and checked the gun, sniffling. Quinn resisted looking at her again or she might just let go of the steering wheel to grab her. It hurt Quinn inside to see her so abandoning eager to find Finn when they got to his house, but it hurt worse to see her with her now and in complete misery.

In five minutes time, they came to a gas station, safely distanced from buildings perchance the fire made way here. Quinn pulled up to a pump closest the store. Without waiting to see if Rachel was ready, Quinn jumped out of the car and for the pump. She yanked out the hose and found the gas tank cap, nearly tearing it off. It occurred to Quinn how truly frighten she was when she saw her hands shaking as she put in the nozzle. With the power out, the gas flowed freely and she let it gush into the tank before standing straight and looking around with wide eyes.

Rachel stood on the other side of the car, gun raised with both hands, slowly swiveling with her ruined eyes for any sight of moving life. This continued until just before the pump finished when a shot rang off. Quinn practically jumped out of her skin, whipping around. Across the street from the gas station, a lone zombie stumbled out from a broken window and then fell to the ground finally dead from Rachel's fire.

"Nice shot," Quinn appraised with a gravelly voice. Rachel said nothing. Quinn hurriedly put away the hose, shut the gas tank, and the two hopped back in the car. They brought it right up to the gas station, where there was also a section of the window broken, small enough for the car to cover it. Rachel began to question what Quinn was doing when she parked Rachel's side of the car to close for comfort against the window.

"Roll down your window," Quinn instructed. Rachel did as she was told and it worked perfectly that they could crawl into the gas station through the window and barricade the entrance at the same time. Leaving everything in the car, Quinn crawled in first voluntarily, Rachel following. Once inside, they scoped the rooms, turning up with nothing, and then barricaded all the entrances. It was basically a routine.

"We're never going to find the others," Rachel mumbled out, like her hope was leaking from her. She leaned against a wall behind the check-out counter when they entered the main room of the store.

"Shut up," Quinn snapped, not meaning to. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before stepping closer. When she opened her eyes, they were glowing in the dim light and Rachel couldn't look at anything else.

"I said- _we will find them_. I will whether you give up all hope or find enough to fight with me. Either way, I swore I would protect you and I'll drag you with me if I have to when you don't even have the strength to walk anymore."

Rachel waited a beat before nodding obediently. Quinn gave one quick nod and left to find some blankets in the back. She came back with just two and made a palette on the ground.

"Lay down," Quinn said.

Rachel didn't object and balled up on the floor. Quinn shrugged off her jean jacket she had given Rachel before and laid it over the other girl. She began to move around the store, collecting different things. When she returned, she kneeled beside Rachel and took her head. Rachel resisted but Quinn merely hummed disapproval and Rachel relaxed. Cradling the girl's head in her lap, Quinn picked up eye drops she found and unscrewed the lid. Rachel obliged as Quinn treated her eyes, but the whole while, they were quiet. Everything was quiet.

* * *

**A/N: A much needed update and a much needed cleaning of my profile! How have you all been? I hope the holidays were good to you!**

**So here's chapter 7, a tad sloppy but you be the judge of that! Review and let me know how the chapter went! **

**-x**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

"Quinn?"

Rachel sat up, the hard ground unforgiving with her body. She could feel the aches and sores that riddled her body, but as she made to look for the girl she called just a second before, a hand stopped her. It set on her chest, warm, so it had to be Quinn, safe and alive, but it braced her, prepared her.

"Be quiet," Quinn's voice said through the gray dawn. There was a filter to the air. It smelled of various smoke. Rachel looked to her left where Quinn sat beside her, resting against the check-out counter, and jutting from between her pretty lips was a cigarette.

"Are you _seriously_ smoking?" Rachel began to chastise.

"Shut up!" Quinn whisperingly hissed.

Rachel closed her mouth, taking to the serious lilt to Quinn's voice, and blinked rapidly to force away the tiredness. Quinn's hand moved across her chest to her shoulder, then traveled down to her hand, grasping it for security. When Rachel could see, she looked to the other girl and saw the solemn expression she wore, a thin wisp smoke trailing from the end of her cancer-stick.

Following her hazel eyed gaze, Rachel looked to the front of the store, where between the shelved aisles; she saw what Quinn was trying to keep them hidden from. Seeing the zombie writhing against the glass, smearing bile and blood across the surface, seeming to search for the smell of fresh flesh yet not sure of its location, made Rachel's skin crawl. She guessed the smoke from the fire she had caused obscured their scent and keeping quiet, away from view, confused the undead being, if that were possible. She took a quiet deep breath and carefully scooted beside Quinn, pressing her back against the counter, and kept a tighter grip on the girl's hand. She ignored the nauseating smoke of Quinn's cigarette, admitting to herself that the bad habit kept the rebel calm and together. She wasn't about to try it but worst case scenario… she might sneak one.

"How are your eyes?"

The brunette blinked, realizing Quinn was talking below her breath to her. Now that she thought about it, the eye drops the pinkette had treated her with had helped but they still felt scratchy. They weren't at the prime for shooting heads at the very least.

"Better," Rachel accentuated with a nod. "How are you?"

"As good as can be given the circumstances," Quinn growled. On cue, she scratched at a spot on her collarbone, enough to grab Rachel's attention. Looking at the pale skin stretched over the bone, there was black spot with an angry red ring. It was a burn from an ember. Rachel lifted a finger and ran it over the burn, feeling the rough, singed skin. Quinn made no motion that it hurt. Looking over her shoulders and arms, there were a few more small spots of burns. Rachel thought back to the ember that touched her cheek and reflexively scratched at the location, whimpering when she peeled off a scab. Quinn was looking at her then, running her hand over Rachel's face, feeling the place where she had been burned. When she pulled her hand back, there was a prick of blood on her thumb.

"Stupid," Rachel muttered, looking away from her companion.

"What?" Quinn said softly.

"It was stupid. I was stupid. I was ranting- and you commented, flustering me… I acted irrationally. I caused a terrible fire that will consume half of Lima while simultaneously harming you and putting us forcibly into _more_ danger. And then when you didn't follow me down the stairs, I didn't think about the fire escape- I didn't leave the building fast enough. You in the alley way… unarmed… then saving me… you could have died and you saved me and-"

Quinn's hand stopped the flow of stumbling words from Rachel's mouth as it settled firmly on the darker girl's cheek. She guided Rachel's face to look at her, and there was a ghost of a smile on her lips, the cigarette gone, but Rachel still smelled like its stench. Quinn's glowing eyes, taking on a more onyx tone quality, looked into Rachel's deep chocolate ones. The simple gaze was soothing and relaxing. Rachel wanted to cry, the bond forming between them so emotionally draining, but couldn't find herself to do so. Quinn was really there for her. Wholly and sincerely. She wasn't just trying to get by, dragging Rachel along. She was honestly caring and striving to survive _with_ her. She was her friend, a close friend, as an experience, a situation such as, could only create two lonely people to be. The past two and half weeks, working together, saving one another, withstanding the apocalypse, was binding. Rachel would remember this girl and what she had done for her forever. It would haunt her in the next life and influence her through any other lives.

"There is a belief," Rachel began to speak without intention. "That the people you are closest to you in your present life- your lovers, family, and special friends- will always be connected to you in _any_ life. They will follow you and meet you in the next as they did in the previous and you will always end up with the same people, or souls, as you had before and will again. They may be in different forms and with different behaviors but they will always be there and will always have a purpose for being connected to you.

"Quinn… if we don't make it- if we don't survive- if we don't _quite_ see the end of this zombie apocalypse- I want you to know and to be assure of… that you will meet me again. You will see me again and we will be close again, just like we are now. You can't deny that as immoral as it, that this outbreak has brought us together. So if I die now or if I die later, no matter when, just know that I will be waiting for you on the other side."

Rachel finished and the tears still didn't spill. Her eyes shone but she channeled her emotions into what she said and to keep her eyes on Quinn's. She saw the desire to cry in the former blonde's eyes. She saw the desire to reveal how much what Rachel had just said affected her. But she resisted the urge to cry as well and remained stoic. Quinn didn't move, only her mouth parted, to take a silent intake of air. Slowly, in unison, the two leaned forward and touched foreheads, Quinn closing her eyes. One tear, only one tear, leaked out from her dark lashes and no others. Rachel grasped Quinn's other hand, clutching it, relaying just how loyal she was to the other girl, and Quinn's own bare-knuckled grip held just as fast.

* * *

"How are we going to get back inside the car?"

A few minutes passed before one of them spoke. Quinn's voice cracked from holding back her own emotions but when she cleared her throat, the question sounded a lot more important the second time around.

Rachel glanced at the zombie still moving against the glass window. It had no lips she noticed, torn or decayed away. Its jaw was slack and most of the bile that was running down the storefront came from its gaping mouth. It was revolting.

"We'll just have to hurry," Rachel decided. She swallowed and looked back to the girl in front of her.

"Should we just shoot it through the window?"

"No," Rachel shook her head. "It could shatter the entire window and with our luck, another would come jumping through from somewhere. We should try to climb back through the hole in the window."

"That's risky," Quinn said firmly. "If we don't move fast enough, it could grab us as we're going through. It could scratch us."

"That could infect us?"

Quinn shook her head slowly. "… I don't know but I'm not willing to find out."

"What about that airman?" Rachel asked, brows furrowing slightly. "You spent the most time with him- did you ever notice his wound? Did they look like claw or teeth marks?"

Quinn looked away, staring off into space at the floor as she thought. She had a steely expression and her lips were pursed.

"I can't be sure," she said after a few beats. "I did notice after he died- the second time- that there was torn skin on his calf. But it was too torn to be distinct and we got rid of him after."

Rachel nodded somberly. Suddenly, she looked back up. "Do you still have that metal bar?"

"It's in the car," Quinn said with a loose end, as though she wasn't sure what Rachel was getting at.

"You can climb through first. You would have the most time. That zombie would be alerted after you're through and I wouldn't be able to-"

"Rachel-"

"-no, listen. You can get the bar. Bludgeon him. You've done that before. For me."

Quinn clenched her jaw, trying to think against it but not finding much to retort with.

"Fine," Quinn said bitterly. She pulled out her red bandana that Rachel had tied around her hair a couple days prior and began to do the same.

Once they were ready, with belongings they collected in Quinn's arms, they hid behind a shelf and thought a plan out.

"I'll be bait," Rachel said, her voice quivering but her expression sure.

"What? Fuck no," Quinn spat immediately. The eye drops dropped from the things in her arms. Rachel stooped to grab them and said as she stood back up, "I'll be inside, just in front of the zombie. Dangle myself right before it so you can get back inside the car. Then I'll move to the car and it'll follow and it should close enough for you to cave its skull in."

Quinn sighed shortly through her nose, despising the plan Rachel had given them, but coming up with no other choice, began to move to the far end of the store where the car was parked. Rachel breathed deeply, willing herself to stay calm and in control before turning and going in the opposite direction, where the zombie still slapped at the glass lazily on the other end. Ducking through the standing shelves, she was just one aisle away when she stopped. Her nerves were getting the best of her.

"Damn it, Rachel," she hissed at herself. She clenched her fists. "You're nerves never stopped you before. You are an actress, a performer. This shouldn't be any different. They can't touch you. They can't touch you-"

Rachel spoke this in a quiet, affirmative mantra as she stood and walked out from behind the shelves. She stepped right up to the small counter that stood between her and the actual glass, struggling internally to keep from screaming as the response of the undead body outside was immediate. It wasn't fresh, a zombie that had been around for a while, so when Rachel revealed herself, its open-palmed hits to the glass hardly increased in force and tempo. It groaned against the glass, its white eyes pinned on her, wanting the fresh life inside the store. Rachel looked to her right, towards the other end of the store, and glimpsed Quinn ducking through the hole in the window-

"Shit!" Rachel cursed.

The zombie must have caught a whiff of Quinn actually outside compared to their stale scent from inside, and turned. It began to hobble after the car, snarling incoherently, forgetting Rachel altogether. Jogging alongside the undead, Rachel smacked the glass, calling at the bumbling body, but it paid her no attention. When they got to the doors, she got all the more closer and banged a fist on the glass. The doors were locked at least but she failed to notice there was already a crack along the pane she was hitting until it shattered. Yelping and jumping back, a slice running vertically down the side of her wrist, the glass fragments showered the zombie.

It was frightening how the undead swiveled back to her like her blood had attracted a shark. Abandoning Quinn and the car, the zombie jumped at the window. There had been four panes total in the doors, two in each door. The pane she broke incidentally allowed the zombie to lean in at the waist. Rachel had jumped back far enough so that when the zombie reached at her, it was still a distance away. Frustrated, if mechanically possible, the zombie began to push itself over the frame.

Rachel spun around in her spot, looking for something to use against the undead. She contemplated tearing a shelf off and winging it at the zombie's head when a high-pitched screeching caught her attention. Looking back to the front, even the zombie turned its head in the car's direction and before Rachel could register what had happened, Quinn had slammed on the gas, the car set in reverse. The car flew backwards, slamming into the zombie's body and scraping it from the side of the store. There was a series of cracks and sounds like wet balloons bursting before Quinn stomped on the brakes, the open passenger window in the bigger space of the pane Rachel had broken.

"Get in!" Quinn demanded, looking over her shoulder at the creature she ran over. There was no movement or noise from the body but there didn't need to be to stop Rachel from practically leaping over the frame and ducking into the car. With shaking hands, Rachel used the crank to roll up the window before throwing herself against the back of her seat. She closed her eyes and breathed through her mouth as Quinn tore out of the gas station parking lot, not bothering with the jolting of the vehicle or maniacal driving.

"Well, that worked well," Quinn stated sarcastically.

"It did, rather," Rachel agreed with a sigh.

"Where do we go from here?"

Rachel opened her eyes and watched the street turn into a blur as they sped down it. She chewed in the side of her cheek as she thought.

"The high school?"

"What?" Quinn said, glancing at Rachel with a skeptical expression. "Why?"

"Who knows who could be holed up there," Rachel responded. "We might find someone who can help us."

"God couldn't help us unless he set the entire earth on fire," Quinn grumbled.

"Would you stop being so _hopeless_?" Rachel replied, getting frustrated.

"Hopeless?" Quinn repeated with emphasis. "I'm not being hopeless, I'm being fucking realistic! We have not seen _anyone_ since this began."

"Yes, we have!" Rachel said, sitting forward, her voice rising. "You and I both saw that man sprinting down the street from a zombie when this first began."

"Yeah, before he was caught!" Quinn snapped harshly. "We also watched him being eaten, remember? I held you while you cried– like you have done this _entire_ damn time!"

Rachel gritted her teeth. "It's not a bad thing to show a little emotion, Quinn. It means you're actually alive!"

"Do you not see me?" Quinn said, letting one hand gesture over her body haughtily. "I am alive! Am I trying to fucking eat you right now?"

"All I am saying is that it is okay to cry!" Rachel shouted. "You can't always be stone-cold and thick-skinned, Quinn! It's unhealthy and most of all, it's _fake_. Anyone can see you're just bottling it up so you can appear to look like you have it all together. _Everyone_ is in the same predicament we're in. _No one_ can be going through this without emotion, no matter who the hell they are! We _have_ seen people since this began and though that man may have died, he was still at least _trying_ and so are we, and so are others! So stop acting like this isn't affecting you and _drive to the god-damn school!_"

Quinn's face was of pure fury, Rachel's words biting and striking the correct chords. Her jaw remained clenched, a muscle standing out in her cheek, and her eyes were fiery as they stared ahead as she drove. Both of her hands were locked on the steering wheel and her entire body relayed tension and resentment.

Rachel sat back again, crossing her arms and watching as Quinn made certainly for the school. The air was thick with their argument but neither was willing to clear it. Rachel wasn't going to. She had a point and her points were usually blunt and truthful and she didn't really care if she hurt Quinn's feelings, it worked and got them headed for the high school. How could they go from bonding that morning in the gas station store to fighting in the car, minutes after they ran over an infected human? The outbreak obviously did strange things to relationships, not to mention strain them or completely destroy them altogether.

A few minutes passed with no noise other than the car and no sights other than the skeletal town of Lima and the occasional area of fire. They sped down one block and Rachel glimpsed a tower of flames across the town, possibly from her doing. As it was, black clouds were rolling in from the east, not smoke clouds but storm clouds. Who knows what rain could do to this outbreak. It would help stop the fire and even waterlog the zombies. They would take whatever they could.

"You might want to take care of that," Quinn gritted through her teeth.

"What?" Rachel snapped, completely unaware of what the former-blonde was referring to.

Quinn reached jerkily across to Rachel, grabbing her forearm and lifting her left wrist up to the owner's face, displaying the cut and the river of red staining her once white Oxford button-up. Quinn let go after Rachel got a hold of what she was talking about. Turning in her seat, Rachel dug through a duffel bag until she pulled out the First Aid kit and began to wrap gauze around her wrist and palm, the cut extending from the side of her pinky to just after the bone that juts out at the joint of the hand.

"Is it going to be okay?" Quinn asked copiously.

"Yes," Rachel replied curtly.

"Did you get any of the zombie's blood on it?"

"No."

Quinn nodded and that was that. They were pulling into the school parking lot, only three cars, looking quite battered in the entire space. The school looked abandoned but there was tell-tale signs of fortifications; boarded up windows, chains wrapped around the handles of exits, sandbags placed strategically for picking off bodies as they approached, and so on. There not a _live_ person in sight.

There was a door, however, that wasn't chained up.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for a week's wait! Hope it was worth it! This chapter was a little longer but I got carried away. ^-^**

**Feedback saves insects! (not spiders because those bitches can go die)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

Quinn pulled the car right up to the curb, facing the unlocked door. She turned off the car decisively but the silence prior was still there as they sat in their respective seats.

"I gather you offended me with the 'crying' comment because what you had really meant by it was that you have been stuck doing all the battle and I have been the helpless damsel."

Quinn said nothing but faced Rachel with an incredulous expression at the words that sounded stale in the car.

"Not anymore."

Before Quinn could say anything, Rachel reached between them where the metal bar had fallen during Quinn's driving, and unlocked the car door.

"Rachel!" Quinn barked, taken aback. "_Shit_," she added under her breath, trying to find her gun.

Meanwhile, Rachel stepped up from the car; her gun holstered, the metal bar in her right hand, and looked around. It was completely barren, not a zombie in sight. Rather, they seemed to lurk. Not giving any time for a zombie to appear, she shut the door behind her just as Quinn was opening hers, and bolted for the unchartered door.

"Rachel!" Quinn called angrily, a car door slam following.

Rachel reached the doors and only paused to take in the extensive blood spatter up the metal and across the window before grabbing the handle with her left hand and flinging it open.

A strong hand snatched her elbow and she whipped around, tearing it from her grasp, raising the bar above her head. It was only Quinn, raising her own hand to prepare and deflect the blow.

"Slow the _fuck_ down," Quinn spat. Her eyes were glinting maliciously. "I know you're expecting to find Finn but damn it, I'm here too. We're doing this together."

Rachel let the words sink in before taking a deep breath and lowering the bar. Quinn was right. Rachel was jumping ahead of herself, hoping to find Finn, locked up somewhere, for the better part safe and sound. The possibilities of that were not in their favor but she couldn't stop her gut from twisting.

Quinn scoffed softly and stepped in front of her, an M9 appearing as she raised it, and entered the building. Rachel realized how wired she was, how nervous and truly scared she was, as she followed suit. At any moment, they could be attacked, and if they didn't act quick enough, everything they fought to keep for themselves could be gone.

The hallways were dark, the power out here as well as the rest of Lima. The only light came in shafts from the windows and doorways. The floor was less slick than that of the coffee shop but there were still considerable amounts of blood and debris, signs of struggle and fighting. The only noise came from the both of them; Quinn's boot crunching slightly and Rachel's flats skidding. The first open doorway on their right approached, and as Quinn could begin to see inside it from her view in the center of the hallway, she turned and aimed for it in a military-like maneuver. Nothing appeared. They continued slowly, avoiding rubble and alerting whatever sulked here. Each open door way they passed, Quinn would swivel towards it, finger on the trigger, eyes narrowed, and when nothing would happen, they would walk on, Rachel looking over her shoulder, bar now armed in both of her hands like a vicious baseball bat.

They met a three way intersection. They could either continue straight to the other end of the hallway, which was shrouded in dark, or they could turn right which would bring them farther into the school and eventually to the lobby– where Quinn could make out a pinprick of light.

Looking back at Rachel, she nodded her head in the direction of the light. Rachel nodded in noiseless agreement and they ambled down the next hallway, less doors open here. It took them a few minutes to move past the obstacles and keep quiet and collected before they eventually came to the lobby, where they were met with the source of the light.

It was a lantern, a dying lantern, that barely gave off any light but in this darkness, it was enough to gather some attention.

Speaking of which, Quinn looked around, surmising that if the light brought any attention, there wasn't anything in the building. No zombies stumbled or stood idly around and there was only the sound of a drip, probably from some ruined pipe.

Quinn resisted the urge to jump as vise-like fingers tightened around the crook of her elbow now. She knew it was Rachel because no zombie would slowly latch onto her, but as she processed the grip, she looked over her shoulder at the short brunette.

Rachel raised the metal bar, pointing for an alcove beneath the stairs of the lobby that twisted up to the next floor. The alcove had been barricaded as well, with a few sand bags and some tables and chairs. Blood caked the furniture and had once dripped down into pools surrounding the area. The alcove had once been an area of battle that actually seemed to ward off the worst. So why was it empty?

It wasn't. Quinn squinted in the direction Rachel was pointing, looking for someone or something, and then her eyes widened.

Raising her gun, she slowly pulled her arm away from Rachel, stepping as lightly as she could, reaching the ring of old blood, near the entrance of the barricade.

In the darkest corner of the alcove was a man. Quinn could tell by his short brown hair. He didn't seem to be a zombie, the back of his neck still pale-colored flesh, not grey or decaying. The pinkette didn't take any chances however and kept a careful aim on the man as she neared, passing through the barricade.

Something cracked beneath Quinn's boot. She gasped and immediately looked down at the bone she had snapped in half upon stepping on. Realizing her mistake, she looked back up just as the man spun around on his haunches.

When he didn't attack at first, Quinn didn't fire. However, her finger was frozen on the trigger at the sight of the man. He held a slab of meat, potentially human, in his hands, his nails sunken into the underside, producing blood to run down his arms and drip from his elbows. His face was layered with blood from the meat he had been devouring, his mouth still open, his teeth blunt, a chunk of the meat in his cheek. His eyes looked as though they had cataracts; there was a milky film over them, though Quinn could tell his eyes had been green. His face was contorted slightly into a feral expression but it actually softened when he saw the punk girl.

"_What_ are you?" Quinn demanded, surprised her voice came out so firm. She felt absolutely terrified and her chest felt too tight for air.

The man stood then, the piece of meat dropping at his feet. He tilted his head slightly.

"_So_ – _hungry_."

He raised a hand, fingers splayed, for Quinn, and took just one step when Quinn's gun didn't fire.

Rachel's did.

The bullet ripped through his neck, causing the man to drop like a fly. Quinn started at the gunshot, wondering if she had pulled the trigger herself. She had been so transfixed as to how the man acted so human, had actually spoken, and didn't immediately charge her.

"Rachel!" Quinn turned.

Rachel stood slightly to the side of the barricade so she could had a better aim. She was breathing heavily, lowering her gun, the metal bar now in her left hand. Quinn hadn't even heard her move or take out her gun.

"He wasn't human, Quinn," Rachel stated, holstering her gun, safety switched.

"He wasn't a zombie either!"

"It was not as though you could have interrogated him!" She gestured at where he once stood. They were speaking loudly now.

"He answered me, didn't he?"

"Quinn!" Rachel said, awestruck with the fact the other girl was arguing with her. "He was infected! Maybe you don't always turn if you get bitten or scratched! Maybe you turn into-"

Rachel abruptly stopped as her eyes drifted from Quinn's face to just behind her.

Quinn spun about, the butt of her gun outstretched, as soon as she saw the horrified appearance of Rachel. It was lucky she did, striking the fresh zombie in the head. It wasn't powerful enough and didn't cave in his skull though. Rather, it threw the body against the side of the barricade where it pushed off and started moving toward her again.

It was the man from before, his throat still spilling blood where Rachel had shot him. He was a fresh now, and went after Quinn too quick for her to raise the gun. It seized her by the shoulders and growled, pulling her towards its opened mouth, spitting blood across her chest as it motioned for her throat.

There was a blur of silver and the sound of cracking bones. Rachel missed by a couple inches and struck the zombie in the shoulder, glancing off of Quinn's as well, thankfully the opposite of her already bruised left one. The two figures collapsed to the ground from the shock, where Quinn promptly rolled on top of it, pinning its arms down with her knees. She raised and brought the butt of her gun down, connecting with the center of its forehead, and once the first blow was delivered, something snapped inside of her. It unleashed a reddening haze across her eyes and gritted, bared teeth, resembling an animal. She started bringing the blunt object down repeatedly to the body beneath her, striking its forehead until Rachel suddenly was pulling her away, forcing her to stop her actions.

"Quinn! _Quinn_!" Rachel was hollering, yanking the brutal girl from the since dead– finally– body.

Once Rachel drug Quinn to her feet, the rebel jerked from the grip, adjusting her jean jacket on her shoulders. She took a deep breath, noticing how hard she had to keep air, and felt the warm blood slick off her fingertips. The zombie's face was unrecognizable, completely beaten to a near mush. Looking at her gun, she had to pick a string of some kind of muscle from the ridge of the cartridge.

"What was that?" Rachel snapped, stepping around to face Quinn. Her expression was a mix of scolding, awe, and shock. "You hit him three times and his forehead splintered into his brain! Why did you keep going?"

With a final intake of air, Quinn calmed. She threw the string of muscle aside.

"I don't know."

"I _was_ right," Rachel said, reverting back to their topic before though still weary of the girl.

"What?"

"Maybe if you get bitten or scratched, you don't always die and then become reanimated. Maybe… you become something slightly less than human. Cannibal-like."

"You are right."

At the smooth, male voice, belonging neither to Rachel or Quinn, their eyes widened and they spun around.

At the top of the staircase, a rifle resting against a bloodied and bandaged shoulder, stood none of other than the teacher himself.

Mr. Schuester.

* * *

**A/N: BET YOU DIDN'T SEE THAT COMING. Well, guess what. Neither did I. Seriously. You're jus writing and you get those random epiphanies and I was like "OH PERF MOMENT FOR RANDOM APPEARANCE."**

**By the by, I've realized I've gone about advertising the wrong way with "save the insects" stuff. So...**

**FEEDBACK SAVES QUINN FROM BEING TACKLED. :p**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

Rachel jumped into Mr. Schuester's arms as he came to the bottom of the staircase. He winced but smiled, wrapping an arm around the small brunette that wasn't holding his rifle.

Quinn kept her distance, suspicious, the bloody gun still in her bloody hand.

Mr. Schuester looked down at Rachel once she pulled away a little, and then at Quinn.

"It's no surprise you two would survive," he surmised. "Well, it _is_. But I would've figured you two _would_ fight together."

"It _is_ a surprise you are still alive, Mr. Schue," Rachel responded frankly. She stood back and looked between Quinn and their choir teacher, a hopeful glimmer now in her eyes.

"Why didn't you know about the man?" Quinn asked, jumping right along to the situation at hand.

Quinn didn't really believe Mr. Schuester had survived. Sure, he began passionate, even angry, when it came to things like Glee or how he yelled at her when her punk phase began. She just never thought he would be standing here now, almost nonchalant, with a gun against his chest.

"How was I?" He asked honestly. "Rachel was right about before. She was right about something no one had seen coming and had never been in the movies."

"Why didn't you save us?" Quinn cut in.

He looked at her curiously for a moment. "I didn't know anything had happened until someone shot a gun. I came in time to see Rachel pulling you off the body."

"Quinn, please," Rachel added, stepping towards her, her voice pleading. "Let him have a chance."

"No," Quinn said firmly, her eyes sparking. "Where has he been this whole time? Why hasn't he been out, looking for the others like we have? Why didn't he find us?"

"Quinn–" Rachel started.

"–Girls," Mr. Schuester said, stepping between them, a hand raised. It was almost ironic how the gesture was so familiar from Glee club. He turned to Quinn. "I understand you're angry that you think I didn't try to find you guys, when I actually did… I just didn't get very far."

He stopped talking and looked distant, lowering his hand.

"Mr. Schue?" Rachel prodded, craning her neck slightly in front of him.

"Emma's dead," he said simply.

Quinn pursed her mouth, looking down at the toes of her boots. Rachel's hand flew to her mouth, choking the gasp on the verge of release.

"I killed her," he added a few beats later. At this, Quinn looked up beneath her lashes. "She… turned just like Rachel had come up with. She was bitten, not bad. On her arm," he shrugged a shoulder. "And we bandaged it up. We hoped it wouldn't kill her. And at first, we thought it wasn't going to. She had it for a week and had no signs of illness or dying. But then-then she started changing. She was hungry. It slowly… moved to being almost-almost _carnivorous_."

He looked up, coming back to reality.

"The point is, you become infected and it's like an infectious disease."

"Disease?" Rachel echoed.

Quinn looked down at the zombie's blood that it had spit across her chest. She raised an arm and tried wiping what she could from her front.

Mr. Schuester shook his head.

"Not airborne or anything like that," he confirmed. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Let's go to my office."

Quinn raised a brow skeptically.

Mr. Schuester's mouth twitched. "It's where I've barricaded myself. We'll be safe there. And I'm fine Quinn. This?" he pointed at his bandaged bloody shoulder. "Car crash. I'll explain."

With that, the three moved back up the staircase. Mr. Schuester held the rifle loosely in his hands, finger on the trigger but not raised. They move at a quicker pace than the girls did.

"Do you know there is a door that isn't chained?" Quinn asked, referring to the entrance her and Rachel arrived.

"Figures," Mr. Schuester said at them from up front. "A few of the staff panicked, another thing I have to explain. They must have broken through that door and ran."

Rachel squinted her eyes in curiosity. She looked at Quinn as the two girls walked slightly behind him. The rebel raised her right hand, the hand that she had beaten the zombie with and covered in blood, and gripped Rachel's shoulder softly, reassuringly. Rachel gave a small smile and they followed Mr. Schuester into his officer.

Once inside, Mr. Schuester shut the door and locked it. They could see through the glass but on their side, it was reinforced with iron bars, as well as the windows. The windows were a tad cracked at different parts, like someone had fallen against them.

"Alright," Mr. Schuester began, sitting at his desk. "Infection. Let's just cut to the chase. I have the feeling you came here to search and ditch. I won't keep you long."

He said the last part looking pointedly at Quinn, who was still wary of him. His existence was questionable.

"The only sure way you can be infected is if you're bitten. Zombie mouths, even if they're a fresh– a term for a new zombie– is riddled with the disease. Their blood is too but in small amounts. Just like any other disease, you will just become sick. Really, when they bite you, the disease is too powerful and you become ill, quick and fatal. When you die, the disease's pathogens are still alive long enough to take host of your cells without them fighting them, and it works so fast, you become reanimated within minutes, even seconds. It explains why the bodies still function and then begin to deteriorate after time."

"The man downstairs reanimated just after I shot him," Rachel provided.

Mr. Schuester gestured, making a noise of approval at the statement.

"That is another thing. Their blood. If enough of their blood gets inside you, or you manage to survive an illness by a small bite, you become infected. You turn into a sub-human, or what Rachel loosely called 'a cannibal'. A cannibal is still a _human_, not infected in anyway like this or a zombie. What you experienced downstairs, we call an 'Infected'. Zombies are only post-death. Once an Infected dies, if they are still fresh and sustained by food or meat, they can turn into zombies, but not always."

Rachel nodded, listening intently to what Mr. Schuester was saying like they were back in school learning about Modern History. She had sat down on a chair by his desk, but Quinn preferred to stay standing. Her gun had been holstered but her fingers still itched to take it out again. She just couldn't trust her favorite teacher. Not yet.

"There are a few terms for zombies based on their function. Commonly, there are walkers or shufflers- slow moving or walking zombies. There are runners- a name for both running and even sprinting zombies. Technically, the label 'runners' can be used for an Infected since they and fresh zombies run but we prefer to just called them Infected, to keep from making mistakes. And lastly, there are crawlers- zombies who no longer have legs but use their arms. They're just terms people use for specifics. I say 'people' loosely because it was gathered from movies and used by the staff here."

"How did you shoulder become injured again?" Quinn piped up, lifting her chin almost defiantly.

"Car crash, Quinn," Mr. Schuester replied firmly, settling his gaze on her. "As I said before, I did begin to look for you all. I only got so far before–"

He paused, like he just noticed a flaw in his explanation. His steely gaze softened on Quinn, who in return narrowed her own.

Quinn was right. There was something wrong about his story. Something stopped Mr. Schuester for really going out and looking for them. She kept her eyes narrowed and focused, silently forcing him to finish his story.

"… Emma bit me," he finished.

Rachel jumped from her seat. She had set the bar against the back of Mr. Schuester's desk and didn't dare move forward to grab it, though her eyes darted towards it considerably. She stepped back as Quinn stepped forward, so that they came to stand by one another.

"Look, girls, please," Mr. Schuester pleaded, standing up. "She _barely_ bit me, just above my elbow."

He rolled up his sleeve and revealed another bandage, clean it was, but _still_ a bandage, covering definite teeth marks beneath. He looked to them with taint of desperation to his face, like he had only just found people to survive with again, given there was no one else seeming to be left on campus.

"Nothing has happened to me! I don't feel any different and my appetite hasn't changed. Emma's skin began to pale and her eyes started looking different, but I'm still the same!"

"I knew it," Quinn said lowly, unforgiving. "I knew there was something wrong about this."

"And where have you been, Quinn?" Mr. Schuester fired back, gesturing at the pair of them as he pushed his sleeve back down to cover the area. "I can't imagine you two have been on the roads very long or you would have crashed like I did with all the pandemonium! I'm telling the truth; Emma bit me and we crashed, the windshield broke and the building we hit sent a brick at me. I barely dodged it! Emma chased me out of the car then, complaining about her starvation and apologizing about how she had to eat me. I shot her in the neck. She didn't come back."

Near the conclusion of his story, his voice began to decrease as he recounted killing his beloved wife, as well as his mood.

"That's another thing," Mr. Schuester said with less enthusiasm. "Infected can die like a normal human being can."

"How come the Infected downstairs didn't when I shot him _in the throat_?" Rachel said haughtily, leaning forward at the shell of a man. Quinn's hand now itched to grab Rachel and keep her away in the case the man before them was volatile.

"What was he eating?" he said, as if he was just a tired teacher asking about a question on a quiz.

"Meat," Quinn answered simply, shrugging.

"He had too much sustenance."

Mr. Schuester sat back down, drained. The girls had abandoned him, didn't trust him, and at hoping to find others again, he felt even lonelier.

Quinn felt a pang of sympathy for their teacher slouched in the chair, hand on his forehead, thinking. If what he told them so far was true, then maybe they could trust him, but there was still a restive nerve inside her that she felt was telling her that her instincts were right on this. Mr. Schuester was an Infected. It might be slow working, the bite not very deep, or it might not have been activated yet. It could be like a dormant disease at this point. What if their presence would awaken the virus?

"Mr. Schuester, you understand we are not very trusting right now," Quinn said, stepping forward to the desk. He looked up at her as she addressed him. "We also both know I would like to keep looking for the others and not stick around. So tell us; do you know where any of them could be? Do you know where they were going or if… they turned?"

Mr. Schuester understood that Quinn did not want him going with them and wanted to leave him behind. It was no matter, the kids were healthy and if anyone was going to make it through the apocalypse, it would be this rebel and this singer. They were two of the most determined students he has ever had the honor of teaching. Besides, he didn't feel very much up to it. He didn't feel much up to _living_ without Emma. If he did make it through… who was going to be left? Who was going to be left to work with? Who was going to be left to teach?

"I honestly don't know, Quinn," he replied, dropping his hand from his head to the desk. "School had just let out, remember? It was only hours after that Lima started falling."

Quinn blinked. He was right. Hard to believe they wouldn't be going to school anytime soon.

"Not Santana or Brittney? Mike? Kurt? Mercedes? Sam?"

"Er… no," Mr. Schuester said, sitting forward and putting his hands against his mouth now, honestly trying to think. "I saw… Finn leave with Rachel?"

Rachel looked down to avoid confrontation as Quinn looked over her shoulder at her. What had happened… was hard to bring up.

"How _did_ you two end up together?" Mr. Schuester _just_ had to bring that up…

"Uhm," Rachel perked up, as if she hadn't been paying much attention the whole time. She scratched the back of her neck. "Finn dropped me off to talk to Quinn–"

"We don't need specifics," Quinn interfered resolutely, standing up and yanking her bandana from her hair. She ran a hand through the mess, trying to fix it and cover up the awkward situation that she wasn't even sure should be brought to light yet.

"Quinn, we do need to talk about it," Rachel said innocently and off-handedly. She lowered her voice like Mr. Schuester couldn't hear them just a few feet away.

"Well, not here then," Quinn snapped. She untied her bandana, refolded it, and knotted it back into her hair.

"Here," Mr. Schuester said, jumping up. Quinn turned around to see him holding out a brand new white bandana. It was change of scenery. It also seemed like he was trying to make peace.

Quinn smiled weakly and accepted the bandana after a short pause, taking the one she had just made off and refolded the new one. She tied the white one back into her hair. She even felt better.

"Rachel, we'll discuss it later. Much later. Tonight, we will stay here."

"Night?" Rachel asked, looking around for a clock.

"Well, it's dark outside…"

"It's a storm," Mr. Schuester answered, standing by the window and looking out.

"A storm," Quinn threw her hands up before slapping them audibly down against her sides. "Fantastic."

* * *

**A/N: Updates, including my recent personal one, have been added to my profile. If you want the latest news, I would appreciate adding me as a favorite and checking out the Updates section whenever a story is updated! Thank you! :-***

**-x**

**Reviews saves Rachel now that her gun's ammo is all out! :O**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

Mr. Schuester had been sleeping on a palette behind his desk, keeping himself hidden from the windows. Moving a book case onto its side, they shielded the better half of the room for themselves from the windows, and then made another palette for Quinn and Rachel to share.

The storm had rolled into Lima and immediately progressed into a torrential downpour. The room had become intensely dark then and Mr. Schuester turned on a weak lantern, but a working one all the same. A fork of lightning would occasionally illuminate the room in perfect clarification, and then leave their eyes struggling to adjust.

The two palettes were across from one another, a little space between the girls and the teacher. Rachel currently lay on her side, facing away from Mr. Schuester, who was also trying to sleep, his back to them as well. Quinn was the last one awake, leaning against the back of the book case, her eyes turned in Mr. Schuester's direction. Discretely, she ran her fingers over the handle of her gun beneath her pant leg. Her amber eyes glowed in the poor lighting, her face set in a stony expression, watching over Rachel in the chance Mr. Schue tried anything in the darkness. She wasn't tired at all. In fact, she felt completely wired. It was that weird state she experienced back at the coffee shop; where her senses were picking up on every little detail. She could hear both Rachel's and Mr. Schuester's breathing as they slept, and the thunder rumbling outside. She could smell how well their teacher had actually kept the room clean- it hardly smelt like blood and other produces. She noticed shadows in the lightning and quickly found their sources, to assure they weren't silhouettes of reanimated bodies. Her finger moved over the ridges of the hidden gun and picked away at dried blood she acquired only hours before.

Quinn kept this up for what she guessed was a few more hours before she became restless. She wasn't looking for a fight, per say; she just couldn't sit here and wait for Mr. Schuester to snap. She had finally come to terms with what her gut was trying to tell her as she did have most of the night to herself for thinking. She didn't trust him. He was an Infected at the very least. Emma had bit him and that virus was inside him. She was awake because she didn't want to wake up the next morning to see him finally an Infected and gnawing on the corpse of the girl she had sworn on her life to protect. She'd rather watch over Rachel and at the moment Mr. Schuester would come crawling at them, eyes all glazed, fingers ready to claw at their skin, she would put a nice hot bullet in his brain.

* * *

At some point, Quinn must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing she knew, all three of them were bolting upright at the pitch of a scream.

"Quinn?" Rachel called out, panicking.

Automatically, the pinkette reached out and grabbed Rachel's arm, pulling her closer. She raised her gun up, trying hard not to aim directly for Mr. Schuester.

"Who screamed?" Mr. Schuester whispered urgently, his tone serious.

Slowly, the three stood, Quinn whipping her gun over the top of the bookcase in the chance that there was somebody else in the room. There wasn't even anyone outside the windows. Mr. Schuester leaned down beneath his desk and pulled out his rifle, taking the safety off and pumping in ammo. He rounded the desk first, eyes trained on the door. He reached where Rachel had set the metal bar and lifted it randomly, not looking at the girls as he handed it back. The shorter girl took it firmly in her hand, swallowing. She crossed her left arm over her body to grab at Quinn's left arm, who curled her arm up to grab the hand on her bicep.

Mr. Schuester unlocked the door and opened it as someone wailed from downstairs.

"Can Infected make that noise…?" Rachel mumbled.

"I doubt it," Quinn responded, following close behind Mr. Schuester down the hallway, nearing the stairs.

Swiveling in step as they came to the beginning of the staircase, no one opposed them, so Mr. Schuester took a few careful steps down the stairs. As the lobby came into view–

"_Fuck_," Quinn spat.

A woman had been chased into the building, assumingly from the door the two students came through, and had just been, _literally_, torn apart at the hands of a horde of zombies.

At the curse word, the entire swarm lifted their briny heads. Mr. Schuester didn't hesitate a moment, instead placing the butt of his rifle against his good right shoulder, and fired. His first shot tore apart a runner's jaw and nose, severely throwing the body off course as it started for the stairs. Quinn fired next for one of the slacking zombies that had yet to move from its meal. The aim proved true, throwing the carcass to the ground away from the woman's corpse.

As the gunshots began to ring in her ears, Rachel backed away, only armed with the bar. She had been careless before to run from the car only armed with the one bullet she used to protect Quinn. She realized her mistake when Quinn was making their palette last night and she checked the magazine to find it empty. The empty gun now resides on Mr. Schuester's desk. She turned in the hallway, looking for anything to better prepare herself, when something else down the hallway caught her eye. Stopping and focusing, she noticed the figure across the way. Her eyes widened as they began to walk towards her, simultaneously rooting her feet to her place. Their pace was steady, if not a bit slow, so they could not be a zombie but–

"_I'm_ – _sorry_ – … _starving_," the figure said as soon as they came close enough. Rachel could just make out the face of one of her previous teachers before they groaned dejectedly and bolted.

Rachel swung the bar reflexively, once they were close enough, but the blow wasn't powerful enough and ricocheted off the Infected's ribs. They hissed just like a human would to the pain, but seized her and tackled her off her feet. Rachel could feel wet spattering across her face as she braced her arms against the Infected's shoulders, keeping their mouth from digging into her throat like they so desired. She let out a shred of a scream but the gunfire was too loud. There was second to think and it was spent believing she wouldn't make it. Quinn didn't know what was happening. Her arms felt weak and she watched as they began to shake from the effort. The Infected was relentless, pressing down on her, its face contorted in pain and hunger and anger, seen through half-slit eyes. Her shoulders began to complain from establishing her brace. She tried screaming out through her grit teeth, not finding a way to get through this by herself.

Quinn. Not Finn. _Quinn_. She would survive for _Quinn_. Quinn would do the same for her. Clamping her mouth shut, trying to put on a face of bravery, her brows merely furrowed as she let one shoulder collapse. She effectively allowed the Infected to fall beneath the lack of support to the side, and rolled on top of it just like Quinn had done. She didn't stop to think about what she was doing because she really didn't want to, or she wouldn't have continued. She brought the bar down in a similar arc as Quinn did with the butt of her gun, smashing it vertically into the Infected's skull. There was sickening crack, hardly as loud as the gunshots firing behind her, and it had _almost_ done the job. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out and served another connect to the head beneath her. The body went conclusively limp beneath her legs.

Twisting around, Rachel watched in time to see Mr. Schuester switch stances. He threw the rifle around, using the thick butt to slash at a zombie that came to close for range. The collision with its skull was successful, throwing the body against the wall and down the stairs. Quinn fired a few more rounds before there is an echoing click.

Empty.

A second zombie appeared with which Mr. Schuester stabbed his blunt weapon at in the face. Rachel jumped up as a third runner made for Quinn. The rebel lashed out, the end of her M9 swiping across the fresh's face, ripping out an eye on some ridge of the gun that caught it. Rachel arrived and stabbed over Quinn's shoulder, sinking into the now empty socket. The bar was taken from her hands suddenly as the zombie fell backwards back down the stairs, but was the last of them.

Mr. Schuester took a deep, short breath, throwing the rifle back against his shoulder.

"What happened to you?" Quinn asked, concern lining her voice. She had turned around when the brunette stabbed over her shoulder, surprised at the vicious advance until she saw her state.

Rachel blinked and looked down her front. A strip of blood splatters officially ended her shirt. She wiped at her face on a whim, essentially smearing blood from her nose. She glanced almost sheepishly at the spread-eagled figure on the floor with its head split in two.

Quinn caught her line of sight and pointed, looking back incredulously at Rachel. "Did you kill that?"

Rachel gulped and nodded.

Without warning, she pulled Rachel against her chest, embracing her. A hand cupped the back of Rachel's head, threading lightly into her dark locks. She was murmuring softly then, so that only the little diva could hear her heartfelt words.

"I didn't know," she was saying. "I am _so_ sorry–"

"–Quinn," Rachel interjected, smiling into the taller girl's shoulder at the worry. "I'm fine. It didn't get me."

* * *

The storm continued on unto the third day of their stay. That night was the same– Rachel slept, Mr. Schuester snored, Quinn remained vigilant, gun reloaded, and then slept the last few hours before they all woke up.

"We need new clothes," Rachel stated as they ate a small breakfast about the office. Mr. Schuester sat at his desk and ate a small can of cold beans with a plastic fork, not bothering to look up at the statement. Rachel had moved the chair back from the desk but was balled up in it, drinking a water. Quinn was leaning against the bars bolted into the windows, sitting on a small filing cabinet. She threw a crackers wrapper to the side, eyes distant out into the hallway. It was hard to see but she was watching. Since the attack yesterday, there was an uneasiness that also settled in her chest at the thought of the unlocked door.

Mr. Schuester wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He thought and then said suggestively, "There should be plenty in the costume room."

Rachel took the water bottle from her lips, where the nozzle rested. "What if the others could be locked up there?" she said, sitting forward slightly.

Mr. Schuester shook his head. "I've been in every room. The only ones left lurk and if you _lurk_… you're not human."

Rachel sat back in her chair, covering her disappointment with a drink of water.

Quinn looked up. "We should do it."

Rachel faced her from her chair, knitting her brows together questioningly.

"We should go get new clothes," Quinn provided, untangling her right arm from the bars and stepping from her perch. "We could do for a change."

Mr. Schuester nodded. "Here." He took a shotgun from beneath his desk and handed it across to Rachel, who looked at this with puzzlement.

Quinn stepped forward with a short sigh through her nose and helped Rachel become accustomed to the new weapon. She showed her how to use it and reload it– just like the airman had done– and then took the belt of rounds from Mr. Schuester to sling over the brunette's shoulders. She shot a smile down at her as she did, a genuine one, and it was curious how it made Rachel's heart skip a beat before she returned it.

* * *

**A/N: Heyah guys! I'm back! My Texas trip was fantastic, in case any of you were wondering, but I'm happy to be back and updating this! Does this chapter suffice?**

**Reviews and feedback keep the Infected away! ;)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

* * *

Once again, Mr. Schuester led the girls through the decimated school as they make for the costume room.

Weeks of inactivity and lack of upkeep really wore down the building. Parts of the ceiling panels had fallen through due to excess leakage of broken pipes, for whatever reason. Some sections of the lockers had been crunched in, evidence of bodies thrown forcibly against them. A few of the metal doors were left open, their contents spilling out into the hallway, ruined and wrecked, pasted to the floor with produces none of them wanted to imagine. You would have thought that zombies couldn't do this kind of havoc but as Mr. Schuester put it, it was 'pandemonium'. The clock that should have sat near the ceiling was smashed on the floor and a panoramic window at the end of the hallway looked as though a couple bodies had fallen through it.

They passed a classroom with its door open and Rachel glimpsed the overturned desks and tossed chairs, and to her disgust, she could just make out before they moved on the severed limb of an arm amidst a puddle of tacky blood. There was still flesh clinging to the bone, at the very least; and if there was meat still on the limb, there was obviously nothing around to devour it.

Quinn watched the man in front of her carefully, hazel eyes darkened in the setting and narrowed on his back. She was more aware for him rather than the few opened doors. She couldn't shake the feeling of him turning around at any moment and stumbling over his words for an excuse to eat them. She held her gun in her hand tightly, her index finger curled like a spring over the trigger.

After a few tense minutes, they finally did make it to the old choir room. Mr. Schuester opened the slightly ajar door with the end of his rifle, swinging around rapidly a few times in the chance of any inhabitants. When the choir room was cleared, he left the girls to go for the costume room and check it out.

Rachel lowered her shotgun as she neared the wrecked piano. A leg had been snapped and the grand instrument was sagging on that side. This room hadn't been a place of massive struggle, maybe just a random person trying to escape into here and then was drug back out into the open. There was a light red path winding back out the door. There wasn't a lot of blood that caked the old orange plastic chairs they used to sit on and the door in the window wasn't broken or even cracked. Rachel turned her wandering gaze back to the piano, smoothing out her blood and grime soiled skirt before taking a cautious seat on the bench. It was still sturdy and she rested the last of her weight on it. Her expression was melancholic, her eyes looking over the white and black keys. She didn't want to touch them. The piano was like a grave-marker now.

"Rachel?" Quinn called softly. She did so more to grab the other's attention than to actually ask a question.

Rachel looked up from the piano a second later. It was… strange to be back here, the entire school abandoned and the world a ruin. It was sad.

"The costume room is clear. Go grab some clothes and then we'll go back to my office," Mr. Schuester announced, stepping back through the dark door of the adjacent room. His rifle pointed at the ground, loose in his hand.

Quinn shot him a look and he lifted his free hand. "Alright, and when we get back to my office, we'll plan your next move," he completed.

Quinn nodded and waved her gun at Rachel in the direction of the room. The two headed for the room, the light from the doorway providing them the chance to scavenge.

Instead of everything consisting of just costumes, there were the everyday clothing for different roles for the occasional play the school hosted. Quinn began to rummage around a cardboard box, her gun put on safety and stuck in the back of her cargo pants. The box held articles set for roles as the same as she seemed to take on in everyday life; leather, chains spikes, and black, the random color tossed in. She started throwing things into her arms, not really caring what she choose.

Rachel went to a rack, looking at some skirts and shirts. Even at a time like this, she preferred to wear skirts. She guessed it was more of a comfort thing, seeing as she hardly ever wore anything besides skirts. She huffed when she came to terms with the idea that it wasn't very rational, and as if to add to that fact of rationality, Quinn stepped around to another box and Rachel could hear the laces of her combat boots hitting the floor with tiny clicks.

"Quinn, should you tie those laces?"

Rachel heard Quinn scoff. "What's the point? They come undone anyways."

"Couldn't you at least tuck them in or something?" Her voice was pleading.

Bending to that voice, Quinn sighed agitatedly and crouched, setting her clothes aside and shoving her laces inside the tongue of her shoes. Rachel smiled lightly and began to pick how own clothing from the hangars. To compensate, she took a pair of jeans in her size and found a box nearby with some shoes. Most of them were still too boyish for her likes but she finally found a pair of cute boots, flat-footed, and blushed when they reminded her of Quinn's as the said girl finished tucking in her shoelaces.

After a few quiet minutes, they started to leave the room. They neared the doorway, the light illuminating each other's faces, and Rachel looked up to glimpse a appearance of concentration on Quinn's face.

"Quinn, what is bothering you?" Rachel asked quietly, grabbing the rebel's arm and keeping her from entering the choir room.

Quinn wanted to object but there was no use holding back information anymore. She gnawed on the inside of her lip. Oddly, it was reminiscent of school-girl blonde Quinn.

"I can't… get rid of the… _fear_," Quinn chose carefully, remembering Rachel's point back in the car about their fight on revealing emotion. "That Schue is going to snap."

Rachel pulled her lips in, her brows furrowing. She thought carefully. "We just have to trust him for now," she decided, still speaking lowly. "We don't have anyone _else_."

Quinn reluctantly nodded and stepped out into the choir room without another word.

"That took longer than I expected," Mr. Schuester jibed, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.

There was sweat accumulating there.

"You okay, Mr. Schue?" Quinn asked suspiciously, lifting a brow. There might have even been an underlying tone of mockery.

"I think the excitement from earlier wore me down," he brushed off, re-shouldering his rifle. He tried smiling. "Let's get back to my office and I can take a nap."

_Chill out, Lucy…_

Quinn nodded once and looked over her shoulder at Rachel. The shorter girl was close behind, holding her pile of clothing against her chest with the shotgun supporting them. She gave a weak smile to her.

The three made back into the hall. Since Rachel had a few more garments than Quinn, Mr. Schuester lead the procession with Rachel in the middle and Quinn in the back to bring up the encumbered girl. They traveled for the most part through the school silently, keeping their guards up, the steady drip of a busted pipe accompanying them wherever they went.

Rachel looked at the floors, stepping around as much of the debris as she could. It was like a war erupted here. Considering the change time between death and infection, it wouldn't have taken long for chaos to ensue. She caught a name on an essay, _Jeremy Tines_, and wondered who that boy was and where he was… who he could be.

She nearly ran into Mr. Schuester as he abruptly stopped in the hallway, looking in an open classroom.

It was the same classroom with the arm in the puddle of blood.

"I never noticed that before," he mumbled. Quinn leaned to the side at the end of the procession, to get a better view of his face… "I can only imagine who that could have been."

"We need to get moving again, Mr. Schuester," Rachel urged gently.

The man shook his head and nodded, walking again. Rachel even thought she saw him swallow jerkily. They continued on for another minute before he reached the office, unlocked the door, and let the girls in before him. He locked the door again once they were all safely inside.

Sighing as he sat at the desk, Quinn gave him a surreptitious, analyzing glare before taking her spot on the short filing cabinet by the window again. The M9 was back in her hand, tapping the barrel lightly against her thigh like it was a tick. She did it in a way to look absent when really, she was preparing for anything, including Mr. Schuester's betrayal.

Rachel took her spot in her seat, looking through the armful of shirts she brought with her. She finally decided on a short sleeved, blue and white flannel that she found and politely asked Mr. Schuester to turn his chair around. Quinn focused on a crack in the tile outside to keep from stealing a look as Rachel pulled off her bloody, totally ruined shirt and buttoned on the new one. She wasn't going to lie and say she hasn't thought of Rachel naked, but actually getting the chance might provoke actions she wasn't sure Rachel was comfortable with.

"It's cold," Rachel muttered, realizing once her other shirt was taken off.

"Here," Quinn said quickly, standing and shrugging off her denim, spiked jacket she had given Rachel all those times.

Rachel fought back the blush at Quinn's quick response and took the jacket. She wrapped herself up in it, and when she was sure the girl wasn't looking, she buried her nose in the collar and smelled Quinn. It was odd, that after all these weeks of other stenches, that Quinn still had a distinct smell. It was the same smell, even after her alteration to punk. She smelled like flowers and… rich. Like her family was… used to. Rachel closed her eyes, enjoying the idea of being engulfed with Quinn. She nearly drifted off.

"I need a stretch," Mr. Schuester suddenly spoke. None of them realized that time had passed in a 10 minutes of tense silence.

Quinn looked up from peering outside, having been lost in a barrage of thoughts. She tried to get a clear look of his eyes but he was looking down as he picked up his rifle and then was looking down as he watched where he was walking.

"Be careful," Quinn warned seriously, her eyes following his movement through the room and to the door.

"Quinn," Mr. Schuester said, finally looking at her. She locked eyes with him, trying to discern if there was any change to his own hazel color. He softened, believing she was actually showing that she cared. "… I will be."

The punk nodded curtly and he let himself out. He handed a spare key to the girl before he left, instructing to lock it and to keep safe themselves. She did exactly as he said, locking the door fervently. She watched with her neck craned around the bars as the man cautiously moved down the hall they came from earlier.

"He will be careful," Rachel chided.

Quinn looked over her shoulder. "Rachel, he's sweating. His moods are sporadic. I think he's changing."

"Quinn, I told you to trust him!" the other girl stood up, the large jacket clutched in her (small and not at all manly) hands and wrapped around her frame. "He is probably getting cabin fever. I know I was when we were at the coffee shop."

"You can't expect a stroll at a time like this!" Quinn gestured out the window, her expression hard.

"I won't believe anything until he is mumbling incoherently and trying to peel away at us." She had a determined expression of her own, like she used to get when she lectured the old choir class.

"He's sweating, Berry," Quinn said deadpan, reverting to the last name in frustration like she used to in sophomore year. "You said yourself you're cold. It's freaking raining outside and we have no heat."

"Well, you looked at him," Rachel shot back. "Were his eyes different?"

"No, but that could be until later."

Rachel sighed shortly and turned, sitting back in the chair.

Quinn waved dismissively at the brunette and took post opposing her usual filing cabinet so she could watch properly down the hall Mr. Schuester left.

* * *

10 minutes passed. Not a sight of the teacher. Rachel turned in her chair, face showing worry as her eyes flitted between the statue-like Quinn and the windows.

* * *

15 minutes. Quinn's brows were pulled together, the gun resting loosely in both hands before. Had she even blinked during that time?

* * *

20 minutes. "Enough."

Quinn stood decidedly and pulled the key from her pocket. Rachel stood uncertainly, watching as Quinn unlocked the door and turned off the safety of her gun.

"Quinn!" Rachel called. She looked frantically around before grabbing her shotgun. Quinn paused long enough for Rachel to grab her gun before letting the door swing shut. Rachel burst through it when Quinn was few feet away, striding confidently in the direction Mr. Schuester disappeared to.

She knew where to go. She didn't listen to Rachel's hurried steps to catch up as she held the gun in both hands and raised it before her, aiming carefully for anything. Her destination was approaching. Rachel finally caught up and kept a hasty pace with her, gun held against her chest, the muzzle pointing away from her face.

Quinn turned left suddenly, for an open door. Rachel stopped dead.

Mr. Schuester's back was to them, kneeling on the floor and hunched over. Rachel knew exactly over what. It was where she saw the arm. It was the classroom Quinn noted Mr. Schuester halted at.

"No," Rachel choked. Her voice was enough.

Mr. Schuester rounded on them. His face was plastered with the blood from the arm, the limb held in both of his hungry hands and the muscle of bicep torn into sinews.

There was still a portion of human left because as he saw the girls, his expression changed from hunger to grief.

"_Quinn_," he gurgled. It was enough to send your skin crawling. "_No… I'm not– don't._"

Rachel sucked air in as the rebel pointed her gun. Again after a moment of realization, Mr. Schuester's expression changed, from guilt to feral. He abruptly sprung from his crouch and began for them–

He was finally dead before his body hit the floor. A shell clattered on the tile.

"Quinn!"

It felt like a car had hit her. She was thrown to the ground on her bruised left shoulder, hit from the right side. The putrid body against her sent a lance of pain through the aching shoulder, igniting an anger enough to have her lash out. Her elbow smashed against a pair of ribs, the blow enough to off-center the apparent zombie. She could also tell by the snarls and complete carelessness with the way they tackled her. Its mouth was too close for comfort, spitting near her ear, and her shoulder was the only line of defense against its chest, keeping it far enough away for it to not bite her face.

A powerful gunshot bellowed in the hallway. Shrapnel rained around Quinn and she felt its piercing shower as it bit into her shoulder and neck. She cried out, knowing Rachel didn't exactly now the range of the fire, but it worked and the zombie went limp against her. She rolled it off her, its head taking most of the heat from the shotgun, blood and bile wetting her clothes, and she started to push herself up.

"_Oh my God_, I am so sorry," Rachel frighteningly said. "I didn't know what the gun did– oh God, Quinn that's a lot of blood. Quinn, please don't die."

"Rachel," Quinn croaked. When did her voice go? "I'm fine." Her incessant blabbering was annoying.

"No, Quinn, you're bleeding. _A lot_. Come on. Get up. We have to back to the office! Don't stand too quickly– do you feel woozy? Jesus, shit, I'm so sorry!"

Rachel spoke the entire time she helped Quinn up. The former singer didn't have a chance to speak, not that really could, and she decided to see what the fuss really was about. She lifted her hand to the back of her neck, and when she pulled it back, there was actually a considerable amount of blood running down her palm.

Rachel stooped to grab their guns. Quinn tried to feebly wipe her hand on her pants as the shorter girl began to lead her down the hall. She was in a kind of haze. The zombie must have caused her to hit head on the ground because there was a dull throb on the side where she was tackled onto. She tried lifting her right hand to her neck again, the right being the side with the most damage, but Rachel was holding that arm and was too busy guiding her to even look at her.

They got to the office, Rachel digging around Quinn's pockets hastily before finding the key and ushering them in. She brought Quinn to a chair, sprung back to the door to lock it, and then was kneeling before the injured girl all in a blink. Her hands were firm but tender as they cupped Quinn's angular jaw. Her hands were slick against her skin and when she pulled her hands back to start scavenging through the room for an injury kit, the dazed girl thought she saw smatters of red on the other's palms.

Rachel began singing softly to herself; it was something to do more for herself than to soothe Quinn, though the wounded girl did find it distracting for the time. She caught bits of the shaky lyrics through her haze, stuff like– _"I won't give up on us…"_ and _"cause even the stars they burn"_. It sounded like something she's heard before but couldn't think properly.

Meanwhile, Rachel took out a couple wads of gauze from the kit and opened up the fresh bottle of cleansing alcohol. She dabbed the gauze on the nozzle of peroxide and beginning to wipe carefully at Quinn's pale neck. It quickly came to her attention that the bullet fragments were lodged just beneath her skin and she would have to remove them. She found a pair of tweezers, created a mantra of apologies between her trembling singing, and came real close to the girl sitting lackadaisical in the chair.

Quinn found comfort when Rachel's front brushed hers, when that singing of a terrified girl got closer to her ear. She felt a sting when the tweezers plucked at her but it was quickly forgotten until the next pick as she focused on the tan neck before her. She kept herself focused on Rachel the entire predicament of removing the shrapnel, listening to the fragmented song, but even after 10 minutes, the pain was becoming too much and Quinn felt like crying.

"Can't we take a break?" Quinn complained, her voice nearly failing her.

"I'm almost done," Rachel cooed, her singing coming to an end. On cue, she took another bullet fragment out. Actually, she was done. She leaned back to smile at the recovering punk and set the tweezers aside. She began wiping and cleaning again, the wounds covering most of the side of her neck, up to her ear, and across her shoulder. All the shrapnel was removed however and once the area was thoroughly cleaned, Rachel grabbed at Quinn's top's hem.

"Hey!" Quinn gasped. She grabbed Rachel's hands, stopping her. "What are you doing?"

"I have to remove your shirt, Quinn," Rachel said, looking into her hazel eyes with a bit of confusion. "I have to finish dressing your wounds."

Quinn pondered a moment before reluctantly removing her hands, her lips a tight line. She wasn't one to be afraid of revealing her body… but it was just her and Rachel and Rachel was the one removing her clothing.

The little singer peeled the dirty shirt away, revealing a black bra that cupped pale breasts. Rachel had to mentally scold herself for becoming even momentarily distracted and grabbed the gauze. She cleared her throat, Quinn looking in the opposite direction.

Quinn had nice breasts.

Rachel tried not to look as she wound the gauze around her shoulder. It took a few minutes and then taped the end to keep from unraveling. She took the kit's scissors and cut wads of gauze large enough to be taped over the raw gapes in Quinn's neck and up to her jaw. Quinn cooperated with Rachel, tilting her neck up, eyes glued to the ceiling. Once the last of the tape was placed and Quinn was fully taken care of, Rachel's eyes traveled down over her collarbone, her hand subconsciously following.

Quinn suddenly took Rachel's hand and stood up. Rachel followed suit, wondering what the pink-haired girl was about to do when she let their hands drop after a still and grabbed another shirt from her pile on the filing cabinet. She pulled it awkwardly over her shoulders and then moved to the desk, obviously scavenging for food.

Obviously avoiding Rachel.

* * *

**A/N: I've been on the rocks with a plotline :s**

**Besides that! The song referenced is _I Won't Give Up_ by Jason Mraz and sung by Rachel in season 3, episode 12 (i forget the name) I jus liked that song. c:**

**And so I seem to have Quinn tackled again. I can't help it if I want her on her back at all times. ;)**

**Reviews keep Quinn from being shot... AGAIN.**

**-x**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

* * *

Rachel curled up on her palette, trying to keep warm. The rain had died down but was still falling steadily, tapping against the office window with every gust of sparse wind. It was so cold with no heat working. Her hands were balled up under her chin, trying to move the heat from her neck to her extremities. She changed after Quinn had found some food, actually putting on her jeans that she found and a thicker shirt. She even put the boots on, finding they were warmer than her other shoes. Still, it was cold.

The tension between the two girls wasn't easing either. Rachel's distracted behavior to Quinn's hardly exposed breasts was questionable. Rachel knew it was. It was also confusing. Didn't she love Finn? Weren't they technically still dating even if they weren't together the past near three weeks? What if he was dead or turned… was she off the hook?

The brunette scrunched her eyes at that last thought. That was disgusting and selfish. She doesn't think like this. She mentally kicked herself, wondering what even provoked her to word a thought like that.

_Your attraction to Quinn— that's what._

Rachel physically jumped up. It honestly sounded like someone was just told her what she was really thinking. She even got onto her knees to look over the desk at Quinn sifting through the cabinets of the room, to see if she said anything. When there was no change to motions of the room, Rachel quietly laid back down, folding in on herself again.

But was that true?

_Come on, Rachel. Let's just think this through…_ Rachel closed her eyes and took a deep breath, beginning her own discussion in her mind.

_You have dated Finn for a while now. On and off since sophomore year. Technically, you are graduated now, even if the graduation has not occurred yet… or will ever. _Oh_ stop that. You'll make it through this. Quinn said you would… _Quinn_. So, to review. 10__th__ grade. You and Quinn have had a sketchy relationship. She did not like you much, or at all. She even said so herself. She became pregnant, victim to Noah's antics no less, and you tried to reach out to her on several occasions wanting to prove you were there for her even if she didn't want you to be. So, yes, I have always wanted to be her friend. She has been everything I have _ever_ wanted to be… besides my goal to live up to Barbra Streisand— pretty, popular, smart, confident… but now that I'm thinking… I never tried as hard to be friends with Santana or Brittany, and they're both pretty, popular, confident and smart in their own ways… was I just oblivious to the fact I've always been attracted to her since then… No! It wasn't about Quinn! It was about Finn! It always has been. I'm not _really_ attracted to Quinn… well, I wasn't then. Am I now? Oh, you're just going in circles! But you are attracted to her now. Am I really? Or am I attracted to the way she protects you like Finn? Oh, Rachel, you _are_ an idiot. You have to face reality… Finn would have no idea what he would be doing, you know how he works. He wouldn't think of you if he doesn't even know how to think for himself. He wouldn't protect me like Quinn is doing. Quinn is protecting me and nothing like Finn would. So am I just attracted to her for protecting me? … You are talking to yourself, you don't need to lie. That's denial and it is not healthy, especially at a time like this. You are attracted to Quinn… on some level. It may not be really an attraction. You just appreciate her body. She keeps it toned and strong. She takes care of it. And all this action these past weeks are keeping her in her prime. You appreciate a good body. It is just all this time you have spent with her. You rely on her and you trust her and she is a good friend. She even believes you two are friends too. Friends are not attracted to other friends… so do I want to be _just_ friends then? … Oh God, just stop. Just stop thinking._

"Rachel?"

Rachel jerked from her doze; her mental conflict was putting her back to sleep. She was still cold. Quinn was standing between the two palettes, her jean jacket hooked on a finger and hanging over her shoulder. Her eyes are dark gold in the gloom. She has a questioning expression on her features.

"Yes, Quinn?" Rachel replied sleepily but politely.

"Are you going to sleep?" the punk asked, swinging her jacket around, holding it by the collar.

"I am trying to, yes," Rachel strained. The air was so thick with broken communication.

"It's cold. Take my jacket." Quinn dropped the jacket over Rachel's shoulder. Immediately, there was a rush of Quinn's familiar smell and Rachel closed her eyes to enjoy it. She opened them quickly when she realized that was sort of inappropriate.

"Are you not going to sleep?"

Quinn shook her head. "No. I'm going through the office. Seeing what I can find. It's interesting." She shrugged. "It gives me something to do and to think."

"Really? About what?" Rachel couldn't help herself. She cuddled up beneath the jacket, peeking over the rough collar at the towering girl.

Quinn looked to the window for a moment before to another distracting direction. "What to do next."

"Oh," Rachel sighed. _Stupidstupidstupid._

"Get some sleep. I'll try to later."

Quinn walked back around the desk. A few moments later, the sounds of her going through the filing cabinets are heard again, papers shifting and locks occasionally being broken forcibly.

Rachel closed her eyes again, opting to block out everything and try not to think. If she did, she ended up in circles and dead ends filled with denials.

* * *

It must have been a couple hours later when Rachel awoke but feigned sleep. She awoke because Quinn was settling behind her, her back to the desk as she lay on her side. She tried to keep her breathing even as she heard Quinn putting the safety on her gun and setting it above her head on the overturned bookcase. Rachel hoped her heart didn't give her away when it jumped. Quinn was lying down behind her, her body close. She felt the back of the jacket lift and an unwelcomed brush of cool air until the former cheerleader's body was against the singer's back, blocking the cold. The jacket lowered over Quinn's shoulders. Her hands were to herself, careful not to touch Rachel even though she wanted to… to keep her warm of course.

Deciding to make a discreet move, if you will call it that, Rachel sighed sleepily and curled up a little more, her lower back arching into Quinn's abdomen. She shivered lightly. It worked though, and she kept from smiling as Quinn's arm slowly, like she was afraid to wake the girl, wound around her waist. The pull was gentle and it brought their bodies even closer as Quinn moved her chest to press against Rachel's back. Their bodies were flush together then, the heat accumulating between them gratefully.

Rachel was comfortable and ready to doze off, when she registered the first warm breath from Quinn across the back of her neck. It wafted through her hair, warming it, and caressed her skin. It was gentle, just as Quinn was with Rachel when the circumstances were right. It was a total _Quinn's_ breath. Rachel smiled slightly as the breathing became regular against her neck, and it didn't take long to fall asleep to the lull of it and the chest rising behind her.

* * *

Rachel awoke first, surprisingly. She didn't call out for Quinn's name, though routine almost made her. It must have been the fact that the other girl was so close behind her, the closest they have ever slept together, that stopped her. She carefully and cautiously rolled onto her back to look at the beautiful girl's face properly. It was the first time she's seen that face peaceful and completely clear of any raw emotion. Her brows were straight, no creases furrowing them. Her full mouth was softened, no hard downturn to them. Her nose was straight and aristocratic… and there was a small smear of blood on it. Against her better judgment, Rachel raised a finger and gingerly wiped at it.

Quinn's eyes opened. It was so sudden, Rachel didn't process it for a few seconds. In those few seconds, she saw the true hazel tone. The dark green ring outlying the darker tawny color circling the black pupil. She never noticed the dark brown specks in them either, like little flecks that added to the true beauty of her eyes.

"This is a nicer wakeup than usual," Quinn quipped.

Rachel chuckled once in the back of her throat. "What do you mean?"

Quinn twisted her upper-body onto her back, stretching, her legs still folded to Rachel's form. She rubbed one eye before rising up onto her other hand against her head, supported by an elbow on the ground. "_Usually_, you wake up screaming or calling for me and I wake up in a panic."

Rachel averted her eyes, blushing slightly. That is true.

"Hungry?" Quinn offered, sitting up. The jacket slipped off her legs as she stood just to sit at the desk's chair and look through their small selection in the office.

Rachel stood and took a muffin and her water bottle from before, eating quickly and trying hard not to look at those pretty eyes again.

"So what's for today?" Rachel looked over her shoulder and out the window. The clouds were rolling out, an actual sunrise appearing. It was early dawn.

"We get out of here," Quinn answered simply, tossing rotten items to the floor. "There's nothing and no one here for us anymore. But I want to check the Cheerio's locker rooms."

"Why?"

"There might be something Santana or Brittany left there."

Rachel paused, shocked, her brows brought together. "Again… _why_?"

"It would seem like something Santana would do," Quinn shrugged, biting her slab of beef jerky. She finished the pack, stood up, ruffled her matted pink hair, and pulled out her white bandana from a cargo pocket. She folded it and tied it up in her hair. "And it would be nice to maybe see them again. After that, we get the hell out of this school and back into the car. Maybe we can make it out of Lima. Or get a better car?"

Rachel swallowed the last of her blueberry muffin and nodded, wondering what she meant "maybe see them again". It seemed highly unlikely there was anything to find but… it really just seemed like Quinn wanted to say goodbye to the best aspect of her high school career— being a Cheerio.

The two ex-students packed up their belongings, finding a hiking backpack that Mr. Schuester had already begun to use. They obtained all that they could from the room, including ammo, the rifle, the shotgun, and a small pistol. They unlocked the door, scoped the hallway— the dusky light from the morning lighting up the scene since the rainstorm— and stepped out. They didn't bother locking the door and instead set the key on a ledge of one of the windows. Maybe someone else could find it and use the room. It was like a safety zone after all.

The girls traveled through the school with no interruptions. It was like the same place, hallway after wrecked hallway. A broken light fixture buzzed with the last of any residing energy and they passed on by. They were becoming numb to it all anyways. They made it to the locker rooms on the near opposite side of the school and entered the tiled walls. Quinn armed herself with the M9, her coveted weapon Rachel decided. They scoped the rooms before going to the lockers Quinn pointed out as belonging to one and only Unholy Trinity.

The rebel broke the locks of each with the butt of her gun. She opened her own first. It was nearly empty. She wasn't a Cheerio anymore and hadn't been for a while. The other two cheerleaders kept the locker for themselves, not allowing another Cheerio to make use of it. Quinn picked up a picture. It was of the three incredible and talented athletes out on the field in their uniforms. It was strange to Rachel to see Quinn in her former glory compared to her darker infamy now, complete with her blonde hair and missing nose ring. Quinn folded the picture up into squares and pocketed it. She closed her otherwise useless locker and turned to Brittany's. There were a couple water bottles they put in the backpack, some hair and cosmetics products, and a picture of the light blonde and Santana as a couple. Quinn took that too.

When she broke into Santana's however, she froze up in disbelief.

"_Holy shit_," she breathed, astounded.

Rachel craned to look inside. There, lying on top of a note, was another gun similar to Quinn's Beretta M9— a Beretta 92. Quinn looked around as though she were afraid of being caught and then grabbed the gun, checking the safety and sticking it in her waistband. She grabbed the note. She still looked shocked at her discovery.

"Let's go. You're driving. Is there a map in the car?"

Rachel was still trying to mentally catch up and stuttered, "I think so." _Santana has really left them something?_

It took them a few minutes to hastily escape the school. Quinn pushed through the door first. The coast was clear and they headed for the car, left unlocked. Rachel jumped through the driver's side, feeling much better back in their car, and Quinn locked the door on her side once she was settled in the passenger seat. Rachel followed suit, took the keys from Quinn and started up the car. She pulled out and began driving for nowhere, much safer than Quinn ever did.

"What does the note say?"

* * *

**A/N: Okay, you all hate me. I know. Short, rushed chapter. I tried. D'x**

**But it gets better, I promise!**

**-x**

**Reviews RESULT IN LONGER CHAPTERS.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

* * *

_"What does the note say?"_

* * *

_Q_

_ I cant write you long. its hell. it happened too fast and I have no fucking clue where you are or if youll ever find this. but youre smart, so you might Fuck knows. Im writing so fast that I hope that by some Gods miracle you find this that you also understand it. B is in the car. we stole it but fuck if anyone actually cares. I left you a gun if you need it. Dont ask where I got it I fucking live in Lima Heights Adj. remember? I dont know where to go and god, you know me and I hate admitting thingsbut I need you. B & I need you. find this note and find us. Were not going to hell anytime soon. neither are You. Fucking stay safe and alive. if not, I love you._

_ -s_

Quinn read the note several times over, ignoring Rachel's question. The singer didn't bother asking twice, only having to glance at the stricken face to quiet her tongue. She drove through Lima, not really heading for anywhere, and kept checking the gas gage even if she didn't need to.

The pinkette suddenly whipped out the new 92 and slid out the magazine, note still in her fingers. It's fully loaded. She tried cocking the gun but there was already a bullet in the barrel. It was completely prepared. Quinn reloaded it and kept the safety on, putting it on the dashboard. She lifted the note again, reading it for a moment, and then lowered it. She was leaning forward on her knees, staring out the windshield.

"Hit it," she commented idly.

Rachel looked forward at the straggling zombie wondering out onto the street, turning for them when it noticed their presence. Rachel screwed up her face in preparation and kicked the gas, angling for the walker. She hit the zombie at a good speed. The legs gave out with a crack through the car and its head smashed against the hood with a burst of gore, denting the metal but effectively crunching the zombie's only mean of survival.

Quinn was still thinking, barely flinching at the hit, too lost in her own mind and safe inside the car. Rachel drove back on the appropriate side of the road, her back flush against her seat, swallowing over and over at the kill. She hit a _person_. Or a zombie. _Still_.

"_Where are they_?" Quinn wondered aloud, sounding a bit awestruck.

"Would you _tell_ me what the note says?" Rachel impatiently repeated, recent events putting her a little on edge.

Quinn raised the note again and read the note aloud, careful and articulate. It might help actually, hearing it outside of her mind. But it doesn't and she's finished. Where the hell could they be? Both girls were wondering now, eyes glazed over and looking in their respective directions.

"I want to know how Santana managed to get back into the school with a _full_ gun and then escaped," Rachel appraised. The chances of Santana's feat were slim but… so were the chances of a zombie apocalypse ever happening, so she guessed anything could really happen.

Quinn scoffed. "She's prepared for something like this. She loves zombie movies… well, I bet not now— but anyways, she was always prepared for something like this; B and I could tell. There are people out there that get ready for _Doomsday_. Santana gets ready for the _Zombie Apocalypse_… can't really believe it happened though…"

Rachel nodded emphatically. She turned down another road and gasped at the strand of stragglers. At their turn, two of the zombies spun around and began a full on sprint for the car. Quinn lunged forward, never having buckled her seatbelt, and grabbed the 92, flicking off the safety. She leaned to the side and quickly rolled down the window before switching the gun into her dominant right hand. She leaned out dangerously, Rachel purposefully turning to keep from hitting the zombies, and heard the obnoxious rattle of gunshots. It took four bullets to down the runners, and then Rachel was free to hit the walkers without having them crawl up the hood. There was even a crawler that she again, contorted her face in repulsion at driving over its skull. The other two bodies did the same as the first walker— crunching in like folding chairs and colliding their heads with the bumper. One smashed against the lights and shattered the fiberglass case. Blood splattered up the windshield, and in a sick sort of irony, Rachel turned on the windshield wipers, eyes blown wide in fright.

"Where am I driving?" Rachel asked shakily after a few moments. There was a click of her turning off the wipers once the blood was cleared… for the most part.

Quinn had sat back down, rolling the window back up and putting the 92 back on the dashboard. She settled in the seat with a sigh, thinking and ignoring Rachel again, and then abruptly ducked between her knees. Rachel glanced questioningly before the punk sat back up, an atlas book in hand she pulled from under the seat.

"If you don't have a map under the passenger seat," Quinn said triumphantly. "You're not a true driver."

"I don't," Rachel answered defensively.

Quinn sniggered and flipped open to their little Ohio state. To Quinn, it was strange seeing the nice and neat map. It was almost like looking down on the world previously, before this tainting outbreak. She hesitated, looking at the green of the map and its various colors, depicting where the land rose and sunk. Her fingertips absently moved over the gray and blue lines that depicted the roads and highways, imagining that they were actually still there. If the school was so wrecked after the past weeks, then it was plausible that raised highways and bridges could be suffering from this. If not now, then later, if this apocalypse never gets under control. She's seen the show, _Life Without People_. Without people, the world would reclaim everything, almost starting over. Zombies would take over everyone and then the world would cease until they all eventually decayed away, their bodies like fertilizer. All their memories and history would fade away, like it never had any purpose.

"Quinn?" Rachel coaxed, breaking the girl's reverie.

The pink-haired girl cleared her throat and refocused on the map. She turned a couple pages until she got the closest possible to their little town Lima. Her hazel eyes blazed as they scanned the printed pages for something that could trigger an idea or memory. There had to be something that could help her find Santana. Anything.

"Well," Rachel said after a minute, trying to help. She glanced at Quinn's studious expression, a reflection of the old, school-girl, blonde Quinn, and paused in her lapse of nostalgia. "Where would Santana go? Did she ever say where and what she would do during the apocalypse?"

"She didn't talk about it like it was everyday conversation," Quinn snipped. "It was like a closet obsession, and if she did, I would wave her off. I never thought of stuff like this because I didn't think it was possible. If Britt paid any attention and remembered this stuff, it wouldn't help anyways because she's with San and we're not."

Rachel nodded again. They were approaching the part of Lima that they used to inhabit at the beginning of all this. Her teeth sunk lightly into her bottom lip as she turned slowly down another road, revealing a stretch of black and half-collapsed buildings, charred remnants littering the cracked and rubble-filled streets. She swerved through the fallen pieces of the buildings all the while watching at what she contributed to with wide, shameful eyes. Quinn even looked up after a beat from her search to gaze out the window at the decimated streets. Store fronts with no windows, shattered from the trapped heat, gaped open, revealing the caved in structures of the ceilings and roofs. Everything was a scorched skeleton of what it once was, eerie and damp from the two days' rain.

"Look," Quinn suddenly pointed. Rachel followed where she gestured.

On the side of the road was a zombie was no noticeable sign of death besides the lack of eyes and teeth. Rachel actually came to a stop with the body on Quinn's side, and the said girl pressed her forehead against the glass of her window to look down at the corpse.

"I think it died… again," she said carefully. She continued to look at the body, not blinking. It didn't move. "I think the rain just… disintegrated it."

"So the rain did help," Rachel surmised. She looked around for any other bodies, or a straggler, but there was nothing left but the dank, burnt street. She felt a pang of guilt for having done all this wreckage but it may have also helped, killing a mass of zombies and more.

"The strip mall!" Quinn abruptly shouted, flinging back against her seat and staring straight forward. Rachel jumped, scared.

"The strip mall?"

"Yeah, the strip mall! That's so something Santana would do! It has everything she would need!" The excited girl turned to the other and began to list off on her slender fingers. "It has weapons, food, clothing, beds, maybe with some source of water to wash. She could totally hole up there and wait for us to find her!"

Rachel suddenly hit the gas again, swerving around the street. The list was enough a reason to convince Rachel that Quinn was correct and hope that they could find some of their missing friends. Quinn had to grab her seat belt and lock herself into her seat before she was thrown around, and she spared a look in Rachel's direction, her eyes wide with Rachel's unexpected reaction. She managed to wrap the belt around her body and buckle it before shutting the atlas and throwing it back under the seat, attention returning to their new destination.

The charred foods store that had been to their right was what triggered Quinn to remember when she thought she tuned out Santana and her explaining the need for provisions to survive a zombie apocalypse.

* * *

They drove as best they could from Lima, towards the strip mall they both knew laid on the outskirts. It was a strip mall meant for passersby or the lower-class that lived out of the heart of Lima. Beside the burnt street, there had been other roads blocked— car collisions, barricades, and other assortments that were like monuments of Lima citizens' struggle against the undead onslaught. Rachel kept herself trained on where they were headed and not on the bodies littering the sidewalks or draped over broke store fronts. It seemed in panic, people were willing to do just about anything, including running straight through glass if any other escape was not an option. For Quinn, she held the dashboard in front of her to keep stable and continually looked around them for any live… in any way of the meaning, choosing to ignore what Rachel couldn't yet hoping it didn't make her senseless.

Quinn had to grab the 92 again as it slid around on the dashboard distractingly and set it in the glove compartment. She had been stowing it away when Rachel had to swerve to miss a fallen tree, felled by a bus that had crashed into it, and Quinn's outstretched right arm jostled from the rapid turn. The tape on her neck ripped off her skin, pulling on the gaping wounds in the process.

Hissing through her teeth, she lifted her hand as Rachel noticed her mistake. She grabbed the wad of gauze that came loose and continued to gently remove the rest of the tape. When she brought her hand away, gauze in hand, she saw the blotches of blood, and imagined that the wounds had finally scabbed and had probably started bleeding again. Wiping with the gauze, the new stains confirmed her suspicions, and she held it against her exposed wounds, her jaw set in discontentment from the stinging in her neck.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said honestly, glancing at Quinn every few seconds. Rachel could see the pained expression, the wounds irritated. She sincerely hoped the rebel wasn't mad with her.

"I'm fine," Quinn said shortly, dabbing now and checking the gauze every few touches to see if the bleeding was at least stemming off. "It wasn't your fault. Just keep driving… _Rachel_… look at the road…"

Rachel wouldn't stop glancing at Quinn, worry apparent in her brown doe eyes. Quinn kept telling her to look at the road and drive, to forget the accident, but it was no use and just like Rachel, she ignored the simple instructions and kept checking to make sure Quinn wasn't going to bleed to death. At least nothing else could go wrong.

Scratch that.

They weren't driving fast enough and the zombie leapt from the brush before Rachel ran into it. The collision was so sudden and seemed faster than it actually was, that when the first initial impact frightened the both of them and Rachel instinctively smashed the brakes, the body slid up onto the roof from the brute momentum. A crack webbed across the windshield, the hood of the car now severely dented, and the two girls lurched forward. It was lucky for the both of them that their seatbelts caught and only Rachel smacked her head against the top of the steering wheel, just barely and enough to daze her. Quinn sucked in a harsh breath at the belt pushing the air out of her lungs with it strapped across her chest, and Rachel flopped against the back of her seat almost lifelessly, eyes wide but emotionless from shock.

Almost immediately, the seemingly and rather unharmed zombie began to pound on the roof, its wet gurgling audible through the car. It had to be fresh, with all its strength and motor skills. Rachel regained complete consciousness and started to slouch down in her seat, eyes rolling up at the ceiling, aware of how frightened and unarmed she was.

Quinn put a hand to her chest, hardly processing that the gauze was missing from her hand. Her chest felt compressed from being restrained in the seatbelt that ultimately kept her from hitting the windshield, but she still felt like when you go deep underwater and the pressure weighs down on you. She also regained complete consciousness and went into action, open and taking the 92 from the glove compartment, and then stalling. She didn't dare roll down the window and she didn't trust shooting through the roof and damaging their only mode of transport further. There was only one thing left to do.

"_Drive_, Rachel!" she yelled over the insistent banging and scratching of dead nails. The zombie snarled menacingly at the taunting noise of life from inside.

Rachel didn't need to be told twice. For the third time that day, she punched the gas again and the tires squealed, burning rubber. They shot off, the zombie falling against the roof before tumbling off. "_Reverse_!" Rachel switched gears, the gearbox complaining, and looked over her shoulder now that she had finally sat back up. Her breath was erratic as the tires screeched again and they were flying backwards. The zombie had just gotten back to its feet when the trunk rammed into it. The zombie was thrown to the ground brutally before the car passed over it.

"Run over its head!" Quinn shouted again, turning back around and pointing forward. Her eyes were blown with fierce determination; a stark contrast to Rachel's blown with intense fear and reluctance that didn't show in her driving. Rachel put the gears back into drive with one last complaint from the gearbox, and aimed the car so that the driver's side tires would crush the zombie-turned-crawler. They bolted forward and then there was a rut as the car crunched the zombie's skull. Rachel actually gagged. All this driving over bodies was getting to her, her eyes watering with need to vomit with sudden churning of her stomach.

"_Rachel_!" Quinn shrieked. In Rachel's dry-heaving, they were headed to go off the road and into a deep ditch. Quinn reached across the singer's braced arms and seized the wheel, whipping it to the left before they crashed into ground. The car jerked, the back tires losing traction on the still slightly wet road. Quinn could almost hear her teeth gritting as her eyes snapped shut against her better judgment and Rachel wanted to scream but the way her neck was craned back in preparation for impact kept her from doing so. Their car spun uncontrollably, the tires whining loudly against the damp asphalt, filling their ears, vibrating their bodies entirely. They spun a complete 360 circle before they finally halted with a shudder that shook the whole frame.

Rachel had stepped on the brakes at some point during the event, and the lost wheels finally found traction on the road once more.

The two sat stock-still, their heavy breathing the only sounds left in the car beside the shuttering of the idle engine. Quinn finally pried her eyes open. They hurt as the world appeared. She let go of the steering wheel with conviction, the joints of her fingers actually cracking, the sound of her skin releasing the pleather making sticking noises. She slowly looked at Rachel, who had her eyes open as wide as they could the entire time though none of it made sense in her dumbfounded mind. Her hands were still on the steering wheel as well, but she let go a moment later with the same accompanying sounds. She too slowly turned her head to face Quinn with an equally scared and mentally-lagging expression.

Why what happened next happened, Rachel will never understand. She saw the mirroring expression on Quinn's face, and then her own broke into a steady wide grin, a peal of laughter rising from her lungs. She started laughing so hard, she leaned forward, resting her bruised forehead against the wheel without care, actual tears streaming from her clenched eyes. Her shoulders heaved with her laughter. She went from retching to laughing in such a short span of time, it was so emotionally draining and resulted in some sort of delirium. Somewhere in the background of her laughing, she could hear Quinn's own deprived laugh join hers. It was slightly higher pitched but had the same insane, maniacal quality to it. It was such a _blonde_ Quinn's laugh that it actually made Rachel's heart ache even as she laughed harder at the prospect of them _laughing_ in the first place.

* * *

**A/N: _That_ was fun to write! Did I scare ya? ;P**

**No, seriously, how do you guys not hate me yet. oh right. CAUSE I'M WRITING FABERRY. You can't resist and neither can I.**

**Reviews gets them off the road and to the strip mall in one piece!**

**-x**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

* * *

The two girls collected themselves eventually, once their laughter finally died down and left them light-headed and in a much better mood all considering the recent events. Rachel checked herself in the mirror, a bruise blooming across her tanned forehead from the impact on the steering wheel, but assured she was fine and there was no internal damage before moving back onto the right side of the road and continuing their travel out of Lima and to the strip mall.

They drove in silence, Rachel maneuvering random bouts of debris from vehicle accidents (they even came across a smoldering pyre of bodies on the median, to which Quinn's fingers itched to grab the wheel incase Rachel had to hurl) and other accidents by cause of the undead uprising. It took them another 10 minutes where it should have taken them much longer had there been actual traffic, but it honestly seemed as though they were the only ones left. It unnerved the both of them but neither would admit it.

Appearing to the right of them, past a cluster of oak trees and backed by some sort of small river that served as a barricade all on its own, was the strip mall. The road branched off to the parking lot.

Rachel came to a stop in a parking space, Quinn rolling her eyes light-heartedly at the idea of parking correctly in a spot. The lot had a few cars in the lot, two of which had a head-on collision in the center on their bustle to escape, but there were no corpses inside. The SVU did have a red webbing across the driver's side of the windshield and the other, a much smaller car, looked like it had caught fire and yet managed to evade an explosion.

The strip mall itself looked untouched for the better part. There was a bloody splotch the size of a person on the pavement in front of a boarded up door, like the victim had been attacked before reaching safety and was torn up right there and then. A broken window farther down was barricaded and boarded up, once a portal of entering and exiting. The panels of wood looked like scraps from wherever the possible inhabitants could find them. The ex-students couldn't entirely get their hopes up, seeing as the school was bigger than this complex, even with the same reconstructions, yet there had been no there besides Mr. Schuester. What were the chances of Santana and Brittany being here? And what were the chances there were other people here, also hiding a deadly secret that they wouldn't reveal so confidently as their deceased teacher?

It was Quinn's turn to be over-eager. She grabbed her M9 and the 92, sticking one in her waistband and cocking the other. She flung off her seat belt, jumped out of the car. She scanned the present area to assure she wouldn't be tackled again (she was getting real tired of that) and slammed the car door with her elbow. She walked briskly up onto the sidewalk before the store fronts, head turning each way to watch the ends in case a sprinter appeared. Rachel was scrambling to catch up, making sure she had the keys to the car and her own M9, now that it had been reloaded with the ammo from Mr. Schuester's office. Glances were thrown at the eager girl, making sure she didn't disappear, but Quinn did seem to be waiting… though on the last string.

Quinn turned tersely as she heard the door of the car clank open and began to move hurriedly down the sidewalk, checking every window and door for a sign of another entry or life. There was nothing new about the boards and chains with locks, nothing they haven't seen before. They were used to them by know and so she kept striding past them, eyes looking only for a chance to get inside.

"Quinn!" Rachel called. She had taken her shotgun as well, and pumped it as she walked up with a loud catch to attract the said girl's attention. Quinn whipped around, surprised, and lifted a brow suspiciously as she realized it was only the little diva.

"Now I am the one telling you to calm down," Rachel said firmly, throwing the muzzle of the gun against her shoulder, eyes glued to the taller girl's. Her right hand fidgeted with the frayed edges of her wrap around the same hand. "I am here, too. And I know you have been friends with Santana and Brittany longer— but please do not leave me behind."

Quinn's facial expression hardened noticeably while her chest melted slightly in contrast. Hearing that subtext pleading tone to Rachel's voice made her feel guilty. She had hardened her face only to hide this fact. She so wanted to wrap Rachel up in her arms then, wipe that slightly angry and hurt expression, and tell her she would never leave her for anybody, but it was inappropriate and Rachel wasn't exactly _hers_ to do so with. The moment prolonged and Quinn knew she had to say something, but she feared she would screw everything up again… or worse and actually lose control and do what she was thinking of. Instead, she nodded curtly, pinching her lips together.

Rachel returned the nod and then pointed behind Quinn with her shotgun. "Check around the back. There may be a way inside from the storage rooms."

The two slowly crept around the corner, using the military maneuver of spanning out for room to fire and then creeping close to the side again as they had adapted to using. The sidewalk narrowed here and they walked single-filed. Tall grass surrounds the strip mall, wavering in the slight breeze, and tried to grab at their passing legs. When Quinn spanned out around the corner again and moved back to the side even though the sidewalk had widened again, the first thing she noticed was the broken radiator still bolted to the back of the building. A body laid in the crunch of the metal, like the person— a man— had fallen off the roof and to their death. They weren't Infected or they would have reanimated by now. They had to be dead. Quinn passed by, averting her gaze, yet Rachel kept steady eye-contact. Jagged machinery poked through the man's chest. Blood coated the spires and created thin ribbons down to the cement sidewalk, where it collected and crusted over. It was surprising it still surprised her. Rachel pursed her lips tightly between her teeth and followed the black-clothed girl in front of her, both hands braced on her shotgun.

"Here," Quinn whispered urgently, waving with her left hand at the discovered door that wasn't chained like the rest. Unlike the school where the chain had been unlocked by terrified soon-to-be Infected, this door just didn't have chains. Nothing appeared to barricade it or secure it.

Quinn stepped up the door, trying the knob. It's locked. Seeing no other way inside, she sighed haughtily. Just being by a locked door that needed to be broken into made her bruised left shoulder ache from the last time she tried shouldering one. Quinn blamed the movies; they made it look so easy. Maybe she should try kicking it in…

"Shoot it," Rachel suggested quietly. A muscle in Quinn's cheek jumped as she suddenly felt stupid for even considering kicking a door in when she held a gun in her hand. Seeing no other option anyway, she stepped back decisively, raised the gun, braced her elbows, and fired at the knob.

Rachel lunged in front of Quinn and brought the thick butt of her shotgun down, breaking through the now broken lock and flinging the door wide open. It startled Quinn but she knew was not the time to marvel at Rachel taking action and no longer being the 'damsel in distress' as she had put in their argument a few days ago.

The hallway provided to them was dark, but it was met with light at the end. Quinn went in once the door was fully open, gun raised, and passed two closed doors, not bothering with them. They were probably just storage closets, used for stocking surplus store items. Rachel followed closely behind once she quickly shut the door. Her shotgun aimed over one of Quinn's shoulders with a safe margin between the barrel and the punk. She'd rather not repeat her potentially-fatal mistake.

The girls enter a clothing store. They stepped around the counter, a setting of distraught and disorganization, and came to the main part of the shop where the racks and shelves were divided into one main aisle. Both Quinn and Rachel came to stand in the aisle and looked in opposite directions, where the separating walls between the stores should be. Instead, it looked like someone had taken an axe to the wood and plaster and tore down a doorway to pass through each of the stores, tall enough for Quinn to pass under with comfort.

"Interesting," Quinn said deadpanned, looking back and forth in both directions now. She decided on the longer route to the left, and shrugged a shoulder to have Rachel follow. The brunette followed in a moment, casting a leery glance over her shoulder in the other direction.

They passed through one entry into the next store, a small shopette. The place was obviously used. Wrappers litter the floors, the cash register was broken into and void of all money, and the most obvious of missing items is provisions. What surprised the both of them was the vending machine to the side of the entry to the next store. It was working, the artificial light warming the room in a dim, ethereal glow. It provides drinks that are cold by just the machine working alone. Rachel moved hesitantly past Quinn, heading towards the vending machine. She placed a hand on the glass between her and the beverage contents, lips parted in wonder. It's cool. Oh, she so wanted a Coke.

Two beams of powerful light blind both girls. They were purposefully directed into their faces, intending to render them visionless, and being the skittish girl she is, Rachel dropped her shotgun with a resounding clack against the tile, her hands flying up to her face though it does nothing to block the harsh light. Her eyes screw shut and begin to water, and a small cry involuntarily falls from her mouth at the sudden pain.

"Who are you?" A loud voice demanded, as though the light also affected Quinn and Rachel's hearing.

Quinn tried to turn her face away from the light, her face scrunching up in automatic agony. She raised one arm but the silhouette of it across her face did nothing for the sharp slants of light that still fell onto her face. She kept a tight hand on the hilt of her gun even if wouldn't do much at this point. She has personal experience with using range for melee.

The lights were so bright that the owners couldn't even see _their_ faces. It was like floodlights compacted into flashlights and they were cooking their eyes inside their skulls. Quinn actually feared permanent damage and that was something their lives now dependant on. She wasn't about to lose it two a couple of dipshits.

"Move the god damn lights!" Quinn ordered. When no change was made, Quinn lowered her gun straight into the light though she had no clue what she was aiming for. She turned her face into the crook of her left elbow, but found no comfort. Her eyes were beginning to water as well and even if the lights were removed, everything would be blurred and colored like your eyes were when you stared into the sun as kids.

"Drop your guns!" the voice countered. Quinn was able to catch a feminine lilt to the voice.

"Turn off the _fucking_ lights!"

Quinn could hear Rachel crying then, softly but surely, tortured by the light and defenseless. Remembering there was a shelf next to her, Quinn abruptly ducked behind it. She was too close however, and her boot caught on a corner of the metal base, tripping with no chance to stumble and continuing dodging. She fell to the floor with the report of her many chains and the slaps of her hand, knocking her chin and stunning her with a blow to the jaw. Those bright lights swam in her eyes, and she tried looking up, turning around on the ground rapidly in hopes to evade the lights before they came again. There was the sound of boots hurriedly jogging through the store and then Rachel screamed jaggedly. They was a massive clatter somewhere up and behind Quinn's aching body and she could make out the sounds of struggle, only able to assume that there were multiple owners of the lights and one of them had thrust Rachel prone against the vending machine.

"Rachel!" Quinn screamed just as another light reappeared, moving up her legs but pausing when it reached her abdomen. Even though it was at her stomach, the glare was powerful but it at least stopped moving.

"Rachel?" a voice said above Quinn, the voice belonging to what she could definitely confirm as a woman, who genuinely sounded puzzled. But without hesitance, she took the opportunity of the woman's confusion to lash out. The heel of her boot connected with the blurry outline of the woman just around the shelf she herself had tripped over. Quinn hit the woman straight in the shin, her resolve buckling immediately, and with a cry, the woman collapsed, landing on Quinn's legs.

Eyes streaming with unintentional tears, Quinn fought and shoved the struggling body off her legs until she was free to turn the tables and saddle the woman's waist. She pinned down the resistant arms with her knees and took the large rectangular camping flashlight— the source of the blinding lights— tossing it to the side with a loud thud so that the woman couldn't rearm themselves with it again; not while the punk had her pinned.

Quinn's hands found the person's warm throat before she could comprehend what she was doing. When the hell did she abandon her M9? Instead of stopping to think on the lack of her weapon, she curled her fingers tightly around the column of flesh beneath her, feeling a pulse beneath soft skin pound against the webbing of her thumb as she cut off all circulation. She could hear the woman gagging for air and nails scratch at her arms, trying to reach her face, but the woman seemed to be slightly smaller than the pinkette and therefore couldn't match her in the length of her arms.

"_Quinn_!" a voice unlike Rachel's shouted in the back of her mind. Or was that real? Hands wound around the sides of her vision and found her arms, seizing the insides of her elbows. They tore her hands away from the woman's throat she was choking. Coughing, spluttering, ragged inhales came from the weakened woman beneath Quinn's legs as her hands were reluctantly forced to release. Whoever this new person was, dragging her away, was _not_ Rachel because they nearly lifted her from the ground even as she struggled to her feet. Rachel was far too short for that.

When the new person had Quinn a safe distance away from the woman still lying on the floor, gulping air, they let go of her. Solid ground met her combat boots once again.

"Quinn?" It was Rachel's voice. Quinn tried looking in the general direction of where the brunette had been, only barely registering the artificial light that looked to be so much farther away than it probably was, thanks to those damn lights screwing with her eyes.

The new figure that Quinn's sensitive eyes couldn't discern and had lifted her off the other person turned and moved back towards the artificial light and Rachel's voice. Quinn felt disoriented and confused, like she was very unpleasantly drunk, and she was uneasy with the half-strangled woman on the floor and the other figure that didn't seem to want to harm them… anymore. The former HBIC was rearing its head and wanted this entire situation under her control, so just as she was going to open her mouth to make a threat that no one touches Rachel if they wanted to keep their hands, the figure came back with Rachel's unmistakably short stature in the shaft of artificial light.

The person who practically lifted her from the floor was bringing Rachel to her. Not threatening them, not saying anything really, and not making any moves to harm them and prove themselves dangerous.

Quinn didn't question it beside and reached out to grab Rachel, pulling her close, smelling a scent that was distinctly Rachel and not at all lost in the weeks of horror and gore. She had a momentary lapse of recognizing that same fragrance on the collar of her jean jacket she currently wore the night after they shared it in Mr. Schuester's office, and how she made sure Rachel wasn't watching to press her nose into the strongest spot and imprint that smell to memory.

Rachel hugged her back intensely, actually shaking and shaking Quinn right out of her little daydream. Back to reality. Reality of being sightless and unarmed and in the presence of two strangers…

"Quinn?" the voice she had identified as a woman's, now hoarse from being strangled, said angrily and also awestruck behind them. "Holy _shit_!"

"Who the _fuck_ are you?" Quinn snapped viciously, turning her head above Rachel's (she was that short) to look between the two strangers on either side of them, though they seemed to be silhouetted in luminescent halos— results of the high-beam lights.

"It's _me_, you psycho _bitch_!" the voice retorted, cracking on the peaks of emphasis. "_Santana_!"

"And Brittany," came none other than Brittany's much softer and innocent tone from the figure in front of Quinn.

So Brittany, tallest of the four of them, had been the one to stop Quinn… _from strangling Santana_.

They actually found Santana and Brittany. Right where Quinn suspected they would be holed up. During an all-hell-breaks-loose zombie apocalypse. With all the odds against them, their chances slim, the stakes high, and nearly being killed a half a dozen times… they found Santana and Brittany.

"What the _fuck_ did you guys think you were _doing_!" Quinn responded after the terse pause. She still couldn't make out a god damn thing and neither could Rachel by the way her face was buried against Quinn's chest, looking for some relief. She had tensed up at least when she distinguished the names, but had reverted to the Rachel when this all began— mute and defeated.

"Are you serious, Q?" Santana stressed, her distorted figure moving forward a step as her strained voice got closer. "We were watching our own backs! These lights are sensitive to zombies and if you paid one _damn_ minute of your attention _a todas las otras veces que he intentado decirte algo_—!"

"_Excuse_ me if I didn't think the fucking apocalypse would ever happen!" Quinn interrupted, not wanting to have to translate Santana when she would slip into her native Spanish tongue. "Wanna go off on the other half of the fuckin' world that thought the same?" At this point, Quinn slipped into her own slang of slurring words together and forgetting the 'g' at the end of others. It was a bad habit she picked up from her Skank days and only happened when she was too pissed to care about proper grammar and pronunciation.

"Guys, stop," Brittany said, her obscure stature moving in between the two arguing girls. It sounded like during the past weeks, she had gotten a bit more of a spine and her voice had gotten louder as a result of it.

Once they shut up, the tall blonde turned and smiled despite Quinn's lack of seeing. She wasn't reluctant in closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around the punk's shoulders in an attempt for a hug. "I'm so happy to see you, Quinn!"

Quinn could never be mad at Brittany, and there was no point trying to be now, even when her emotions were on overload and she still had so much more to say or more like, scream.

Rachel twisted away, stumbling, her arms folded against her chest in a way of hugging and protecting herself. If Quinn could see, she would have noticed just how little and fragile the singer looked. Even now, without seeing to know how Rachel was faring, Quinn would much rather be hugging and holding the tiny girl. She accepted the hug from Brittany regardless, feeling herself become encompassed in the familiar embrace since cheer camp in the summer of ninth grade. It had a feel that was entirely Brittany. It was a quality Quinn was sure the tall blonde would never lose.

"What are we going to do about our eyes?" Rachel mumbled to the side, acting like pliers and parting Quinn and Brittany's hug.

"Don't worry, Rach, it'll wear off," Brittany soothed, approaching Rachel and also giving her a hug. She ushered the little girl's head against her chest, holding her shoulders. She pressed the side of her pale face against the top of Rachel's dark-haired head. Rachel had to accept the friendly hug, a small smile hidden in the battered shirt. "When San found them, I didn't know what they were. I like to press buttons and it was pointing at my face when I did. I couldn't see for minutes."

A pair of strong arms suddenly wrap around Quinn's neck. Santana was hugging her, she knew it right away. She was practically cutting off air just in the embrace around her throat, and the skank heard the Latina Cheerio whisper in her ear, "Good to see you too, _Quinn_". Santana pointedly strangled Quinn in her hug, payback for the rings of bruises flourishing around her neck. Quinn found herself hugging Santana back with as much intensity as she was feeling.

* * *

The four reunited girls moved through the next entry to the gun shop Quinn mentioned before. There, Quinn saw how well they had gotten along and prepared themselves. There was a mattress from the bed store laid down behind the counters, which Santana had built a barricade of broken metal shelves and other sharp objects around to keep any runners from jumping over in the case they happened to get inside the completely reconstructed outlet. Though she would never admit aloud, Quinn was impressed with Santana's work. She guessed being a closet zombie nerd had its perks.

The two Cheerios had divided the shelves into the one single aisle from one end of the strip mall to the other for easy and safe moving between stores. Brittany had moved every last bit of every store's displayed stock from the side by the boarded windows and to the other side of the aisle for their use. She also reasoned that she didn't want any "deaders" to be tempted. Santana just shrugged when Brittany used the term, but it seemed like the nicest thing Brittany could say regarding the undead.

With the bare metal free-standing shelves, Santana worked to meld them into something useful. She created jagged edges to face the windows as well, and then beside the entry ways where they could push the defenses in front of if they needed to. The shelves were actually quite lethal. Brittany showed the gash up her arm that was now scabbed over and healing from when she tripped and caught herself on one. Santana was lucky Quinn couldn't notice little details or she would have mocked the wince Santana gave when Brittany recounted the incident.

Behind the counter, every cupboard and shelf was put into use, containing and holding ammo, injury kits, food, clothes, batteries, weapons, and other necessities. They had a little bit of every shop stored for their convenience. They purposely chose the gun shop not only for what it sold alone but it also sat in the center of the complex.

"I'll go get another mattress," Santana offered rhetorically once they had given the _grand_ tour of their temporary living, returning back outside the barricaded counter. She still seemed uneasy, but Quinn couldn't look too much into it because, well… she couldn't look at anything at all.

She sat on the edge of the present mattress, rubbing her palms into her eyes. They hurt but everything was coming slowly back into clarity and she should be fine by tomorrow.

"San taught me that deaders' eyes are sensitive to those lights. You can permanently blind them," Brittany spoke, sounding a bit prideful of her know-it-all girlfriend.

"You could have permanently blinded _us_," Quinn shot back, looking up with squinted eyes, the remainder of her black mascara and eyeliner effectively smeared away. Different colored lights now flashed before her again after rubbing her eyes for a minute straight. She was still irritated and flustered. She hated feeling vulnerable or exposed in any way, especially by exhibiting it in front of Santana, the one person she wanted to appear the most collected in front of. She also hated how she screamed Rachel's name, more worried about the other girl's well-being than her own at the time. It proved just how much she had actually fallen for her. And that was something she didn't want to think about right now. It involved guilt and it was one of those weak emotions she loathed dealing with.

"Hey, Rachel," Brittany piped up, unaffected by Quinn's snipe. She switched from Quinn to the brunette also set on the mattress. "I want to apologize for pushing you against the vending machine. It must have been cold."

Rachel gave a laugh through her nose but sobered up as her eyes still hurt. First, affected by smoke and ash— now by lights. "It's okay, Brittany. At least you didn't hurt my throat. I still like to sing," she replied quietly.

"You've only sung _once_ since this began," Quinn pointed out. She said this because she would have liked Rachel to sing more often but never broached the topic. It seemed out of character to voice the fact that Rachel's talent made the world seem a little more together. At least for her.

Rachel just hummed in disapproval and ducked her head. Everyone went quiet. Brittany merely flung herself back on the mattress, taking what almost sounded like a _content_ sigh.

Santana returned soon after, lugging another mattress through the entry in the self-made wall and then through the altered counters. Quinn stood when she heard the shuffling and saw the large white outline, stumbling just a bit, but grabbed the other end of the mattress to help Santana through and set it on the ground beside the other. When it was settled, Quinn fell onto it. She was truly tired, her body ached, and she was _hungry_.

"Here," Santana said somewhere in the small space, obviously reading Quinn's mind. They always had a strange telepathic-almost connection, whether they liked it or not. It had always been that way since they first became friends, also back in summer cheer camp. "Have a PBandJ."

"What?" Quinn and Rachel said in unison, Quinn bolting upright. They could _hear_ Santana snicker.

"I said go give a BJ— you heard me. _A peanut butter and jelly sandwich_. We made some before they got old and stuff. We have a couple left." In her hand, wrapped in cellophane, were two of the very sandwiches Santana had said.

Quinn snatched one from the Hispanic's hands without another word and began chowing down. Rachel ate a little more mannerly but still with the same intense hunger. Santana sat down on her mattress, leaning against a closed cupboard. Brittany sat up and scooted over to her girlfriend, linked hands. Quinn chose to ignore Brittany leaning her head onto Santana's shoulder, see the motion in her even blurrier peripheral.

"So," Santana hedged, breaking the silence of eating after a little while. Her dark eyes were glinting as they stared at Quinn. "Where the _hell_ have you been?"

* * *

**A/N: So, hopefully this was the longer chapter everyone requested, as well as the hope to find Santana and Brittany!**

**I really enjoyed this chapter though. And I'm building up the suspense of why Quinn and Rachel ended up together in the first place along with Quinn's feelings. I know I've written a large portion of this story in more of Quinn's POV but I find it easier and more relative to my style. Sorry about that if anyone has any thoughts on it. :s**

**Reviews keep another water moccasin snake from getting into my yard! (yeah, I'm a snake slayer. So what. They're poisonous and I'd like my cats to stay alive, thank you)**

**-x**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

* * *

Quinn finished her meal, a sour expression to her eyes then, and Santana waited patiently the whole while, clutching Brittany's pale hand. Finally they stood up and went for a walk through the strip mall, armed with both their guns and their sharp words. Their footfalls drifted away down the carpeted "aisles". Even at the farthest end of the stores, Rachel could still make out moments of heated words as the punk relayed everything that had happened to them during the oncoming three weeks. Santana would retort and fire back, and though she couldn't hear the content, to Rachel is seemed that the other two cheerleaders have also had a rough road to get to where they were. At one point, Rachel was sure she heard some Spanish but with as long as Quinn and the Latina had known each other, you could go ahead and say that Quinn was practically bilingual.

Meanwhile, Brittany was humming a familiar tune to herself and flipping through an old magazine. It surprised Rachel how even during a nightmare taking over the world; the innocent light blonde was still as bubbly and… naïve as always. Perhaps not as much now that she was being forced to grow up and take her head out of the clouds if she wanted to keep the rest of her body, but still more than Rachel was accustomed to at this point. It had been all fighting, tears, blood, and gore since her journey began with Quinn. Could heartbreak be classified in that category as well…?

Finding nothing else to occupy her time, the fiery girls' conversation just barely reaching her ears, Rachel looked down to the worn bandage around her right hand. She picked at the tape that held it together a bit before it popped off and she began to unravel it. As she removed it, the areas of her hand that had been bandaged looked much cleaner than the rest of her body in contrast. She turned her hand, palm up and slightly to the side, to view the cut down the side. It was scabbed at least, crusted with dried blood, and ringed with a tinge of red. Just irritation, she told herself. There was no possible way she could be infected… in any sense of the word nowadays. She is Rachel Barbara Berry. She is careful, precise, and intelligent. She wouldn't allow herself to become lost to damn _glass_.

"What happened?" Brittany remarked, looking up from her reading to see the injury. She was already reaching for a cupboard just beside her to open and take out a First Aid kit. Her several weeks' old magazine was set to the side, abandoned for now, opened on some page of gossip that really didn't matter anymore.

Rachel gave a humorless laugh and a shake of her head. She looked down from Brittany and just ran a couple fingers over the rough ridges gently, feeling the tenderness of the wound beneath the scabs.

"It was a couple days ago, a week perhaps. We were at a gas station—" Rachel paused as the tall cheerleader scooted forward and took an alcohol wipe from the opened kit to clean the vertical scab and surrounding skin. She nodded to affirm that she was listening and for Rachel to continue with the story, her bright eyes intent on her work. "— and the only way out of there safely was back into the car we had parked beside a broken space in a window. The problem was that there had been a zombie just outside the store. To cut the story short, I was to distract it so that Quinn could get back inside the vehicle and in my persistence, I hit a cracked window a little too hard and it shattered."

"What happened to the zombie?" Brittany questioned lightly, looking up from her ministrations of rewrapping Rachel's hands for safety. Her brows were slightly pulled together in concern of hearing the tale.

"Quinn ran it over."

Brittany laughed more at the aspect of Quinn and not the danger of the zombie. She still sounded childish, which was endearing. She taped the end of the gauze on the back of Rachel's hand neatly and scooted back along the mattress to put away the items. She organized the kit with all its objects before closing the lid with a snap and setting it back in a cupboard. She turned back around and offered a smile.

"How have you two gotten along?" Rachel asked, trying to start a conversation to fill the silence while the other two were gone.

"We're alright," Brittany nodded, smiling wistfully. "I was lucky I was with San when it all happened. We were at her house, watching a movie— Imagine Me and You because it was my turn to pick a movie and I wanted one we could cuddle to. We still don't know what happened with her parents and San doesn't want to talk about it now. All I remember is her pulling me along to the basement after she heard screaming outside and unlocking a safe, grabbing some guns and stuff. Then we were in a car and driving to the high school. I couldn't… keep up with what was all happening and then 'Tana jumped out of the car and ran into the school. I was scared she wasn't going to come back and then suddenly, she was back and drove us out of Lima. She kept saying she wanted to go somewhere safe."

"Were there a lot of people here?" Rachel asked quietly, held in suspense. She was imagining everything Brittany was saying even if it wasn't very detailed. Any story at this point was worth listening to and how Brittany and Santana got out of Lima while avoiding the mayhem was beyond her.

"No, they were leaving. San was mad, cussing in Mexican—"

"—Spanish," Rachel corrected automatically. Brittany looked confused but continued anyway.

"Well, she said they were all stupid for leaving a perfect place. Maybe it was the zombie running around but she hit it and then leaned out the window, shooting it. There weren't many more after that and we came in here before they could get us. People were gone then. We've been working ever since."

Rachel nodded, looking down at the fresh, clean gauze nice and tight around her palm, resisting picking at it as she thought. Then a thought struck her. "What happened to the man out back?"

Again, Brittany gave a puzzled look. She tilted her head to the side like Rachel had said something sad. "What man?"

"There is a man behind the complex that looks as though he fell off the roof and onto one of the radiators. I thought you two might have known about that."

"Oh, I don't know," Brittany said honestly, her blue eyes wide at the new information.

Rachel looked to the tiles, then the tip of her new boots, thinking. That was strange. But she had so many other questions to ask that she didn't have the time or capacity to think very long before she was interrogating Brittany again.

"How long do you two plan on staying here?"

"Santana was waiting for Quinn to find us," Brittany explained, closing her magazine. "She was going to wait until the end of this week and then we're leaving."

"Wait, she still plans on leaving?"

Brittany nodded. She fingered a frayed corner of paper thoughtfully. "With or without Quinn, Santana wants to find some place even safer she said. Besides, the food is getting old. I want spaghetti."

Rachel bit her tongue to keep from reprimanding that insufferable request. She ran the tips of her fingers incessantly over the thick gauze wound across her knuckles until the feeling left them and it was a foreign motion.

* * *

Quinn and Santana return not much later, both of their faces set in stony expressions. It definitely looked like they had had their rounds, fighting and talking and over-all conflicting as they usually do and obviously always will. As they stepped through the barricade of the counter, Rachel watched as the pinkette came to her, stooped, and roughly grabbed her arm, just above the elbow. She lifted Rachel to her feet wordlessly and dragged the brunette with her from behind the counters, turning right.

"What is going on?" Rachel asked, trying to pull herself from Quinn's grasp. She could hear Santana and Brittany talking behind them, hushed words, and tried to glance back to see their reactions, if they could tip her off on what got Quinn in such a sour mood. The barricade obstructed her view.

"We're going to get washed up," Quinn replied, letting go of Rachel's arm once they were walking through the self-made entrance and back into the clothing store. They ventured down the hallway in the back, from where they came, and opened a door on the right that the skank had disregarded before, revealing a bathroom. The pair entered and looked around.

It looked like Santana or Brittany had drug a large wash basin from a neighboring store into here, little scuff marks on the too-white tile. A small green hose was connected to the sink's nozzle and the end sat in the tub, waiting to be used.

Quinn skirted around Rachel and turned on the tap. She turned the handle to the left, full on hot, and water began to blast through the tube, echoing in the tub as it began to slowly fill.

"You wash first," Quinn offered, opening the medicine cabinet behind the mirror above the sink. Santana must have told Quinn about this because there were a number of toiletries there, including cleansing products. She set needed items down on the sink counter.

Rachel followed the rebel's back as she left the room, shutting the door behind her. Waiting just a moment, she heard a dull thud as no one but Quinn leaned back against the door, and then a soft scratching sound only fabric sliding against a door could make as the singer guessed Quinn sinking to the floor. She was guarding the door. The prospect made Rachel smile and she decided not to question anything as she began to undress, peeling her mostly clean clothing since changing back at the school, and folding it neatly on the back of the accompanying toilet. Once she was nude, she stooped to run a hand through the quarter of water in the tub. It was lukewarm at best but Rachel wasn't complaining, considering the last time they got any kind of cleansing was… well, too long ago. She leaned over to the sink and selected some products she would use and set them on the ground beside the basin. She stepped in.

Goosebumps rose along her body but quickly disappeared as she submerged as much of herself as she could. Now that she could think, just sitting in the much needed bathe, she did recall the other two cheerleaders looking quite clean and mannerly. She waited, thinking to occupy the time, until the water rose just above her thighs and then she kneeled over the tub to turn the tap off. She wanted to preserve some of the warm water so that there would be some left for Quinn to use. Then it struck her.

"Quinn?" Rachel called. The need to ask a question was evident in her tone.

"What? Something wrong?" Quinn's muffled voice returned, a lilt of concern to it. Rachel bit the corner of her lip, rendering a smile. How could something be wrong when she was inside a room with no way in besides the very door Quinn was guarding?

"No, I am merely wondering how the water works here."

There was a hardly audible sigh before a pause, a rustling of clothing, and then the door was opening. Immediately, Rachel flushed across her neck and face, no hiding it even with her tanned skin, and sunk lower into the tub to cover herself. She watched with a gaping mouth, speechless, as the other girl entered the bathroom. Quinn kept her eyes averted however, looking seemingly unaffected about entering the same room inhabited by a naked Rachel, and moved to the wall where she slid down there too, sitting with her knees drawn up and her arms slung over. Rachel understood then that the edge of the basin rose up high enough and with her slunk down in it, there was nothing for Quinn to see from her seat on the ground.

"Santana found a generator and hooked up some car batteries to it. It works for now but won't last forever," Quinn answered resignedly, eyes on her fingers that seemed to fascinate her as she picked at them.

"Oh," Rachel breathed. She wanted to bathe but couldn't bring herself to do it with Quinn now in the room. The tension was thick between them until Rachel cleared her throat nervously and said in a forced off-handed voice, "What did you and Santana talk about?" She couldn't exactly ask why Quinn decided to enter the room and she was too nice to tell her to leave, especially after all she's done for her. Instead, she decided to fill the silence with something they could both talk about.

Quinn looked up, a wicked smirk on her lips. "Well, I mostly told her about how much of a bitch she is. She, in return, told me how much of a selfish whore I am. There were moments where we got our stories in but other than that, it was Spanglish and insults."

Rachel giggled in the tub, actually finding herself relax instead of staying all tensed up. After a few moments, she reached down the side of the basin away from Quinn and grabbed the body lather she had set to the side prior entering the bath, and poured some into her hands. She had to wash so she decided it didn't really matter if Quinn was in there or not. She had to admit to herself that if it was anybody else, she would ask them politely to leave but she felt close enough to Quinn to feel comfortable decided, either that or it was another reason she was forcing herself not to ponder on. She started washing her body, the water slowly turning shades darker as layers of accumulated grime from the past weeks came off. She'd like to shave, but that might not be a bonus.

When she looked back at Quinn, the girl was watching her. There was a slight glaze to her amber eyes and when they connected, she blushed instantly and looked away, at anything but Rachel. Had Quinn just been watching her? For how long? The minutes had ticked away with cleaning.

"What are you going to do about your neck injuries?" Rachel asked, wanting to push away the invading awkward air that came with the catching of eyes. She too looked away and down at her nails, where she picked beneath them.

At the question, Quinn raised her hand and felt the wraps around her shoulders and taped to her neck, as if to reassure herself that they were still there. The one area that had never been properly covered up again Rachel could make out the raw pink wounds that looked like marks from this far away.

"Actually," Quinn said, clearing her throat in preparation. She sounded nervous. "I was wondering if you could help me with that?"

"You— you mean," Rachel stuttered, her hands stilling on washing her dirty sternum. "… help you wash your body?"

"You don't have to if you're uncomfortable!" Quinn spoke up, her eyes widening in fear of offending Rachel. Rachel found herself shaking her head, a little too enthusiastically. This was brand new ground for the both of them to tread on and they shared the fear of stomping on it rather than walking together.

"No! No, I mean… I _could_ help you."

Quinn gave a small smile, heat coloring her cheeks and what parts of her neck could be seen. She looked back to her fingernails, fiddling with them idly again. She doesn't even really look to fit the profile of some punk with a cold heart and a nasty sneer.

Rachel finished with her body and then washed her hair, sinking into the tub to scrub in the water. She had to keep from making appreciative noises at how absolutely wonderful it was scratch her nails over her head and imagine all the recent events washing off with it. When she finally scoot back up from the dusky water, she looked over to Quinn with a sheepish smile and asked for a towel.

Quinn found one from a lone cabinet in the bathroom and handed it to Rachel with her eyes looking everywhere but the naked body in the tub. Rachel quickly wrapped herself up, still flushing even if Quinn wasn't looking, and stepped out of the tub. She dried quickly with Quinn's back to her, the towel rubbing almost uncomfortably over her limbs, and then hastily put her clothes back on, feeling much safer and comfortable in her jeans and boots than she imagined she would if she had her skirts.

When she turned around, Quinn was just going to face her. The white bandana was in her hands after she had untied it. There was a pause, the both of them looking at each other in a stalemate.

"Let me empty the water," Quinn objected before Rachel could say anything. Turning to the sink, she unscrewed the hose from the nozzle and suddenly began to suck on it, her pink lips wrapping around the warmed metal. Rachel watched raptly for some reason as those lips and her cheek muscles worked on the hose until she suddenly pulled it away and the water from the tub was spewing into the sink. She looked over her shoulder and smirked suggestively.

"Siphoning," she explained. "Puck taught me how when we stole gas from his teacher's car because they gave him a F on his exam."

"Quinn!" Rachel scolded but promptly broke into giggles. She couldn't help it. Any reference to their time back in school, even the scandalous, was nice to hear, nice to remember a time they weren't fighting for their lives… per say.

Quinn siphoned the used water all back into the sink before reconnecting the hose and filling the tub up for herself. When it got to a good level, Rachel turned, closing her eyes and biting down on her lips, as she let Quinn undress and throw her clothes to the side uncharacteristically. When she heard the girl slip into the tub, she opened her eyes and lowered to the ground to sit criss-cross, the edge of the basin covering Quinn's pale and naked body. After the day before, getting the chance to see her mostly clothed breasts, Rachel had to admit she had no idea what she would do if she saw that body in all its perfect glory.

_Oh, Rachel… you know what is happening…_

"What do you need me to do?" Rachel said cautiously, her voice wavering. She realized her and Quinn had been staring each other for the past minute as Rachel thought to herself.

"Oh, uhm," Quinn craned her neck, much to her discomfort, and then moved her head backwards in a gesture. "I guess sit behind me and… clean my neck? I can't see it very well and it would be better to keep it from getting infected."

Quinn didn't mean it in the way of the outbreak 'infected' but the brunette reacted as such. Rachel froze up and all at once, her mind switched off, only one corner remaining on that took her entire attention.

She thought of Quinn fighting for her, saving her, and failing, succumbing to the horde of revolting and violating zombies that tore her apart, her smooth, nice skin tearing apart, spewing forth her blood, her screams rebounding off the insides of her skull, see those hazel eyes more alive than she has ever seen them in her last moments before death.

And then worse… Quinn turning instead of dying. In Rachel's mind's eye, she saw Quinn for what she once was as she reanimated, apologies dying on her lips as she became something less than human and more than death. Those eyes so full of color would leak all of her life and become granite and milky, no longer seeing Rachel as her friend or a person at all, but rather something to devour, to try and satiate her all-consuming hunger.

Rachel could see herself not fighting either. She could see Quinn taking her with no regret and no inhibitions and Rachel willingly. She would be dead before the first bite, the last person she thought she could trust her life with having already left her. In those last few moments of her nightmare, Quinn would descend on her unblinkingly, teeth grating into her flesh until they shred through, hot and unforgivable—

The little horror picture show ended and Rachel blinked into reality, Quinn's curious and concerned face molding back into form from her haze. The feeling of that nightmare, the vivid visuals, their demise… it all felt so inevitable and it absolutely frightened Rachel. She swallowed, her throat dry, and took a deep breath to steady herself.

"Alright," Rachel said, her voice shaky. She glanced at Quinn's eyes, those onyx eyes bearing into hers, and knew instantly the rebel girl knew her day-nightmare. She didn't have to voice her fears, tell her of what she saw, what she felt, what she was scared of. Quinn knew. She knew and it frightened her as well, it was the vibe between them that proved they felt the same. Quinn's lips pressed together, her jaw tightening, and she looked as though everything made her more angry than scared, though of course that was how she dealt with all of it. She hid her fear behind a brave front of fury.

Before anything else could be spoken, Rachel knelt behind the basin. She glued her eyes to exposed wounds on her neck, the slits and gaping raw injuries, somehow not bleeding but very open along her skin. She looked at them and nothing else, because if she wasn't careful, her line of sight could slip down that slender neck, over prominent collarbones, over generous swells, over a plane of toned and not at all marred by stretch-marks stomach, and farther to places a girl should not think about with another girl.

Quinn was more liberal about washing herself than Rachel was and finished quickly, her water quite murky, which was ironic really for the way Quinn had taken care of herself since she became a skank. Santana often made fun of Quinn for her "lack of hygiene". It was when Quinn hesitated and spoke up to grab Rachel's attention did Rachel actually have to do something other than go through the images of Quinn's demise in her head in order to keep her eyes and her mind from roaming.

Rachel turned in her spot behind the basin and sifted through the cabinet again to find another wash cloth, which was also the last. She let Quinn wet it and soap it up before handing it back over for use. Delicately, carefully, Rachel began to wash between the areas of wounds she herself had inflicted. She washed Quinn's graceful neck and lean shoulders, feeling the gentle curve of her shoulder blades with the wash cloth. She worked cautiously beneath Quinn's jaw, the process becoming much more intimate than previously thought, and finally turned to the wounds, where she gently swiped over them. A few were scabbed, others still fresh. She noticed Quinn's cheek tighten as the said girl pulled her full bottom lip into her mouth to gnaw on, fighting against responding to the pain.

"Done," Rachel whispered, sitting back on her haunches and taking the wash cloth away. Her fingers were pruned again. She realizes she didn't know why she whispered, but it felt appropriate.

"Will you wash my hair?" Quinn said quickly but with the same hushed tone, almost like she was scared of Rachel rejecting her if she spoke too loud.

Rachel nodded despite Quinn not seeing her and grabbed the hair products from where they were last used beside the basin. Using the rag to transport water from the tub up to Quinn's hair, Rachel wet it and then poured shampoo into her palms. She had to take off her wrap when she had washed, so she was able to feel all of Quinn's hair. She brought her hands to said hair and began to thread her fingers through the dirty pink locks and the blonde roots beneath. She worked in the shampoo, massaging the naked girl's scalp and coating every strand, feeling the silky strands slick over the back of her palms, and Quinn seemingly leaning eagerly into her care. When Rachel pulled her hands away after a minute, Quinn took the wash cloth from where it was draped over the side of the tub and absorbed water again. She sunk lower in the tub, still careful to keep her wounds from submerging, and spent a few moments of her own work to wash all of the shampoo out. Afterwards, they repeat the process with condition, expending another ten minutes. Quinn finished rinsing out the product and requested a towel. Rachel leaned back this time from her spot to the cabinet and found another towel.

When she sat forward, Quinn was turning around against the basin, to keep her body covered beneath the edge and to see Rachel, her hands tucked against her chest and fingers peeking over the rim. With Quinn leaning over the edge of the tub and Rachel rocketing back on her legs to hand over the towels, their faces were suddenly a couple inches away and their movements halted simultaneously. Rachel's eyes dropped automatically to Quinn's lips, slightly parted and moist from the tub. A bead of water slid down her chin. Rachel swallowed audibly and forced her eyes to tear away from those desirable lips to those smoldering eyes that were also looking up from her own mouth.

"You can kiss me if you want to," Rachel suddenly murmured. They were both acutely aware of the fact they were breathing the same air, shared in the very small and personal space between their lips.

* * *

**A/N: I find it funny when I update and I get reviews and people ask to see San and Britt, and then a one of my last reviews was asking for some Faberry action. And it always ends up in the next update, and I don't even mean to. Like, some of my readers are like psychic. They must know when I'm going to write some of these scenes!**

**Anyways, hope you all enjoyed!**

**Reviews mean a FABERRY KISS. ;-***

**-x**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

* * *

_"You can kiss me if you want to."_

_ If I want to? I've always wanted to…_

Quinn didn't move, or even blink, for a few seconds. She just stared into those deep chocolate eyes and let the words the girl she loves said sink in, like sand settling at the bottom of an ocean. It was surreal, actually. Just like everything else— this could not be happening. It was almost anti-climatic, here with the bad girl punk sitting in dirty water, naked with just a basin dividing their bodies and the good girl singer's perfect lips hovering and parted, offered like Quinn has so wanted to take since she could remember meeting the diva back in sophomore year.

Just when Rachel seemed to regret what she said, her brows pulling together in worry, believing she had made the situation awkward—

Quinn lurched forward over the edge of the tub, her lips crashing with Rachel's just at the moment Rachel was going to pull away and excuse herself. The kiss was shocking and their mouths didn't move, only stayed against each other until a breath Quinn had been holding in her heart for three years was released and she melted. Rachel's lips slipped against hers, the kiss playing out, slowly but gradually, just as their relationship had been. It was tentative and new. It was groundbreaking. They were relaying with their own form of sign language how thrilling and terrifying and wrong but oh-so deliciously right it was. Quinn tilted her head, effectively deepening their kiss and Rachel lagged, still conveying how hard but wanting this kiss was, before she caught up and was pressing back. Quinn's eyes were closed shut tightly, as if the more those strange lights blinked behind her lids in the pain of clenching them so hard was like locking the two of them in this moment and Rachel wouldn't pull away anytime soon. Her blunt, now cleaned, nails dug into the rim of the basin so hard that she could feel them go numb as the blood was forced away. The smallest of whimpers was elicited from Rachel, the only sound breaking the heavenly silence in the room only kissing someone you've wanted to forever could bring.

Then without warning, Rachel was jerking away, those fantastical lights behind your eyelids doing nothing to stop time. The loss of warmth against Quinn's mouth had her reeling all over again and instantly miss Rachel even though the girl was currently scrambling as far from the basin as possible, which ended up having her against the wall just a couple feet away. She was breathing heavily, the kiss taking just as much of her breath away as it did to Quinn. Her hand was lifted to her lips, just hardly touching them, feeling the electricity of the experience between the two. Her doleful eyes were wide with surprise and gleamed with adrenaline and conflict. Quinn didn't need Rachel to tell her who the other person was that created that internal battle. Whether she liked it or not (which she most definitely did _not_), Finn was also part of hers; of whether or not Rachel should be solely hers, or if she was really happy with Finn, and that was the only thing the seemingly ruthless rebel wanted. She wants Rachel to just be happy.

"I—" Rachel spluttered. Her eyes never left Quinn's, who wore an understanding and slightly melancholic expression. "I shouldn't— shouldn't have said anything… I'm sorry. I—!"

She jumped to her feet and spun for the door, hand fumbling to grab the handle and fling it open. She fled just as quickly as anything that had happened between them, her dark hair trailing behind her, the door shutting softly of its own accord.

Quinn slowly turned back around until her back was melding with the curve of the basin and slunk down in the water, forgetting the dull pain in her shoulder at twisting the skin as it compared nothing to the one flaring up in her chest, constricting her throat. Finn still had a part of Rachel that wouldn't let her go, wouldn't let them be together, if Rachel even truly wanted them to be or if it was just the moment that spoke the words for her. It hurt Quinn that she had gotten so close or felt those lips without it truly being hers to savor. Tears pricked at her eyes as the pain intensified, the murky water covering up her lower half as she reclined into the tub, resting her head against the side. She clenched her eyes again, the kiss replaying on a loop in head torturously, forcing the first of the tears to crawl down her cheek and a stricken sob to hiss past her teeth.

_I love her so much._

* * *

The sound of compressed air bursting reverberated in the room. Santana was kneeling at an opening she made in the window at the front of the gun shop, hunched over the scope of a sniper rifle she had sticking out the crude peephole that she could slide back closed with a thick panel of wood. The blimp of live people on a zombie's radar must have strengthened with having four people all clustered in one location because since the next morning, the last of the day before wasting away after the baths, they were massing again. They came almost in waves but fell before they could even cross the road to the strip mall, the walkers and crawlers the easiest to pick off and the runners just target practice for the experienced Latina.

Brittany sat beside Santana, a look of discomfort on her face. Santana had explained to Quinn that Brittany would fight for their lives if need be but would never like it and wouldn't condone it. So Santana did the needed "quota" and was currently the defense against the waves. Brittany would put the sniper shells in when they would leave within seconds so that Santana wouldn't have to do it herself and lose sight of the targets. It was limited but looking through a crack in the wood by the door, Quinn could see that nothing had slipped past the scope. She held the 92 firmly in her left hand, a stoic expression still on her features since the moments of vulnerability yesterday. Even if she had been by herself to cry, she felt it was weak and if there was anything Quinn Fucking Fabray wasn't, it was weak.

Once the alarm of a close threat was not imminent, her mind turned to yesterday again.

_The kiss. Rachel. Replaying. Her breakdown in the tub before she finally collected herself and climbed out, dressing her and her wounds herself._

Rachel was avoiding her… but only when she was awake. Santana and Brittany got a cold taste of what it was like to wake to Rachel's near-scream of panic and fear in the morning for Quinn. Quinn had put some space between her and Rachel when she had laid down for the night, after wandering the strip mall to release some frustration, but the distance of their bodies obviously didn't sit well with Rachel's subconscious and like always, she was screaming in the pre-dawn, eyes still glazed with sleep but glinting with horror. As soon as the pink-haired girl was at her side and comforting her, revealing a side that most people who looked as she did wouldn't, Rachel would wake steadily and then dismiss herself, going to the bathroom or for a walk _alone_. It was unsatisfying and worrying when she traveled off on her own but the strip mall was completely safe (Santana assured Quinn gently, one of the few times they weren't clawing at each other's throat, _no puns intended_) and Rachel always had her gun with her, stuck in her waistband. Lesson learned to never go anywhere without one.

Again, there was a series of four bursts as Santana sniped down zombies. Quinn looked over at her, watching her carefully as the crinkles around her one closed eye twitched and actual sweat beaded her hairline.

"Here," Quinn interrupted, stepping over. She flicked the safety of her gun on and stuck it in the back of her pants. "Let me take a shift."

"You sure, Q?" Santana asked without looking up. She accentuated the question with a fresh bullet into an old skull.

"This won't be my first sniper rifle," Quinn smeared. Santana snorted. She fired once more before hastily backing away. Quinn quickly knelt at the scope and lined up her sight, finger curling familiarly over the trigger and then the shock of her first fire jostling her shoulder as it blew away half a runner's face.

It was like transporting to another world where everything was perfectly clarified, if not a bit warped from the curvature of the scope's lenses; up close yet so far away. Another runner seemed to be moving right for her and without thinking, she fired again, not even blinking when the rim of the device against her eye dug into her cheekbone for a split second. The bullet peeled away half of the zombie's skull and it did a face plant into the field across the road before performing a wicked scorpion and falling. The death was quite comical. It bade well for Quinn's attention, completely dragging her mind away from Rachel, the kiss, her anger, Finn… everything. Brittany reloaded the chamber, Quinn downed another four, reload, fire, reload, fire. It was routine already.

Rachel on the other hand was trying to keep busy. There wasn't much to do all cooped up with nothing that really seemed to capture her attention. She had already gone through the clothing store, having found another duffel bag to fill with more clothes, since that was the supply they seemed to be lacking. She browsed for both her and Quinn. She tried to pick clothing the Skank would wear but even after seeing the grunge style for weeks, it was still lost on her. She had found more clothes for herself and brought the duffel back into the gun shop, having set it by their shared mattress. Now, she sat on the edge, fingering different ridges on her own M9 without looking, like she was blind and learning to read Braille. She was trying not to think so much. It was odd, after all the years of always thinking and planning and analyzing _everything_. Now she didn't even want to. It added to her ever-present headache.

Quinn had taken over the rifle, she could hear them talk. During a particular fire, the compressed air in the chamber that accompanies a bullet sounding strange in the acoustics of the store, she swore she heard something suspicious in the background; something that she hadn't heard during any other fire. It was nothing in their room, and again, during another release, she heard it. A bang. She stood without really understanding what she was intending to do, gun already in hand. She looked over at all three girls crouched by the peep hole into the outside world, looking every bit the like the Unholy Trinity with just a few modifications. Nothing other than the predicament outside had alerted them and it was only Rachel that had heard the noise. Chewing on her cheek, she briskly left the confinements of the barricaded counter and turned for the clothing store, passing through the entryway that Brittany had told her was indeed Santana's doing. She said she needed a way to get to the other stores and to just pass the time waiting for Quinn. The singer also figured it was also a good stress reliever, knocking down something that wasn't obsessed with your flesh.

The banging was louder and continuous in the new store, not so muffled from the division of the other room. It was coming from the back, down the hallway, from where they arrived. There was a person at the door, someone pounding vigorously on the metal that they had locked a couple hours after everyone had gotten reacquainted. Rachel waited a moment, fighting with herself to go and get one of the other girls or just go herself, fingers itchy on the hilt of her gun. In the end, she took a step forward and towards the door. When she was about five feet away, she finally began to think it was a bad idea and pinched her lips together, breathing jaggedly through her nose. Now that she was by the door, the banging annoying and insistent, she had to do something. She glanced over her shoulder uncertainly, and then faced the door, leaning forward.

"Who's there?" Rachel called through the thundering, her voice surprisingly steady. Of course, Rachel being the type of girl to stay away from horror movies, had no idea that _that_ very line was pinned as a death wish.

There was an identifiably masculine groan from outside, like someone was seriously injured and had little strength left in them save the action to get someone's attention to speak. Immediately, Rachel's humanitarian side kicked in and before she could rationalize the situation, she was finding the key they put under a loose tile by the door and unlocking the deadbolt and doorknob. She opened the door, prepared to catch the person if they were to collapse at that moment.

Simultaneously, there were gurgled words of "_So— warm…_" slipping creepily down her spine and a figure rushing through the door before she had let go of the side of the frame. Rachel let out a scream, the sound piercing her ears and surprising herself that it even came from her, though it was no doubt through her singing that she could produce such a powerful noise.

Fingers wrapped around her throat randomly, cutting off the end of her scream as well as retrieving lost air. She hitched, trying to breathe, most of the air gone from her lungs, and reached out as a strong weight pressed down on her, a terrible smell invading her senses and a darkness covering her eyes. It brought her to the floor with brunt force to her shoulder blades. She felt something slick slide down her neck and heard a vicious yet human snarl rattle through her head. Not knowing what else to do, her mind tumultuous with panic and trampled ideas, her hands groping at the chest of the figure, she abruptly found punctured skin through a damp, reeking shirt with her fingers, and did the only thing she could think of doing. The tips of her fingers sunk into the voids with such force that a fresh wetness came to them and the figure above her roared in pain. It was an Infected, the man Quinn and she had seen impaled on the radiator, and she was digging her fingers into the stab wounds the jagged metal had torn through him.

Vaguely, she heard her name being called when there was a gunshot that split the veil. At once, she could breathe, those fingers leaving her neck, and she could see, the man collapsing beside her. The smell of decay and gore wafted away, though still evident, and her hands were slapping the ground with wet reports as she moved to scramble away, going from nearly blacking out from loss of air to hyperventilating. A flash of long blonde hair flew past, slamming against the still open door with a resounding click of a lock and deadbolt, and then Quinn's face was swimming before her eyes. There was anger and concern in her appearance, her warm hands firm on Rachel's shoulders, her sharp and seriously bright hazel eyes burning into her mind like a brand as the corners of her vision were darkening.

"Is that your blood, Rachel? Did he bite you?" Quinn was asking loudly with a taint of anger and concern. "Answer me!"

"He didn't bite me!" Rachel found herself shouting back. She was so shell-shocked and confused, her lungs burning and her vision hazy, she was fighting back in pure anger and instinct. "I didn't know he was an Infected!"

Her eyes fell past Quinn's shoulder, to the open hole in the top of the man's head spilling red liquid onto the floor. There were bloody fingerprints on the tile leading sickeningly to her hands on either side of her, nails digging into the crevices. Suddenly feeling ill, she ripped away from the girl in front of her and stumbled to her feet and into the bathroom like she was drunk. She nearly collapsed against the sink, elbows cracking against the bowl, boots slipping from a certain substance, and tore the hose away from the faucet, turning the tap on, sticking her hands beneath the spray that was too loud in her head, washing off the blood as best she could, the water swirling around the sink's drain with a gross pink tint.

There were arms wounding around her then, taking her hands beneath the jet of cold water, long pale steady fingers running over her trembling ones, ridding of the blood better than she had been doing. The taller body against her back was secure and warm, pressed flat against her so that her body would stop shaking, at which point she wondered idly when she started as she began to calm. One of those ghostly hands in comparison to her natural tan lifted and grabbed a rag from behind the sink, one they had used yesterday, and was running it under the stream before bringing it to her neck and wiping tenderly at whatever produce the Infected had dribbled on her.

Those arms had her turning around, hips still pressed against the edge of the sink, and Quinn was holding her with no loss of bodily contact, still taking care of her, a near blank expression on her face as she slid the rag over her throat. She reached between them and began undoing Rachel's current button up without consent yet without objection, rag held in a couple spare fingers that weren't needed for the buttons. The top was soiled by the Infected and Quinn pulled it off and dropped it to the floor unceremoniously, taking the rag back into her whole hand and clearing the last of the grime away from Rachel's sloping shoulder and delicate collarbone.

All the while, Rachel was watching those eyes not exactly looking down at hers. They were a furious gold and though they didn't really reflect what the owner was thinking, it showed the emotion and intensity of what she was feeling for Rachel, whatever that may be Rachel didn't know. She remained still and obedient to Quinn's movements until there was nothing left to swipe away and the blank girl dumped the rag in the sink behind them.

_You want to kiss her. You did yesterday and you do now and you will tomorrow. It's no longer about Finn… in fact, it never was. It's about you and Quinn. _Only_ you and Quinn._

"What are you thinking?" Quinn wondered gently, her brows pulling together slightly in an appearance almost like frustration, animation for the first time in several silent and tentative minutes.

Rachel's mouth opened to answer, to tell Quinn what she was finally coming to realize, to do exactly what she meant all along about not thinking but doing when it didn't involve zombies or Finn, but instead of words there was a knock on the door. The rebel reluctantly took her eyes away from Rachel's as the bathroom door swung open. She didn't pull away, only turned, one arm still wrapped steadfast around Rachel's waist, keeping her supported, the lower halves of their bodies pressed tightly together, warming.

Brittany stood in the doorway without questioning, but panic. Her blue eyes were bright with fear and she was breathing heavily, her chest contracting and expanding to contain her breaths beneath her t-shirt.

"We have to go."

* * *

"What's wrong?" Quinn demanded, not moving at Brittany's choked words.

"Santana," Brittany breathed. "She'll tell you."

Quinn turned back to Rachel, looking down into her eyes intently, her expression one of slight pleading. Rachel returned the look, wordlessly reading what the girl was only allowing to be seen. Quinn wants to protect her, wants to keep her safe. She wants Rachel to know something, just beneath the surface that she couldn't quite just let be heard yet, and with the most clarity… that this discussion _would_ be continued.

Taking the 92 from the back of her pants, Quinn pulled Rachel from the sink with the arm that was still wrapped around her waist and hurriedly followed Brittany back into the gun shop. Santana was closing the opening to the outside with the plank of wood, nailing it back into place as they entered. The rifle was leaning against the side, no longer of use for some reason.

"What's going on?" Quinn said to Santana across the room, her voice carrying. She turned quickly to usher Rachel behind the counters, to find another top to wear. The shirtless singer scurried behind the barricade, kneeling beside the bag of clothing she found the day prior to grab something to wear and then join the rest before a fight would break out.

"Change of plans," Santana informed, standing and hooking the claw of the hammer's head on her shoulder. She crossed her arms, prepared to defy Quinn. "Originally, we were going to wait until the _end_ of the week and then leave if you didn't show. If you did show, we were still going to wait until the end of the week and leave anyways. The alteration? We're going _now_."

"Santana!" Quinn stamped. "I don't care about the plans! What the hell is happening?"

"The fucking apocalypse, Quinn!" The Latina gestured vehemently to the covered windows. The hammer was jostled from her shoulder and she caught it as she finished her motion. "We can't stay holed up here forever. One point they left out in the movies— always keep moving. If you stay in one place too long, you die. Resources will deplete and you'll become surrounded, like we are now."

Quinn clenched her jaw, hating the tone with which Santana was speaking to her with, like her knowledge of something that used to be considered trivial made her superior now and she was just a naïve kid. She looked around the dim room, taking in the metal shelves and the stacks of ammo boxes and cartridges. Brittany stood to the side uncertainly, her face displaying how uncomfortable and frightened she was with their current fight and the hordes of zombies approaching.

Rachel returned from the counters, lugging the new bags for her and Quinn. She had heard everything that had been exchanged and was ready to get Quinn back behind the wheel, seeing as her driving wasn't the best that could be provided. She came beside the pink-haired girl and looked up at her, trying to keep a calm façade, dropping the bags at their feet.

"Where do you plan on taking us?" Quinn caved at Rachel's return, glaring at the dark girl still near the windows. At the question, there was a slam against the glass outside the boards and nails, rattling them, and then the unmistakable pounding of fists of reanimated bodies wanting new flesh. Brittany started, bright blue eyes translating absolute fear, and Santana whipped out another 92, stepping closer to her blonde. She wound an arm protectively around her as they took a couple steps back towards the barricades in the event they needed to get behind them to defend themselves, which wouldn't seem likely for a while. It's not like zombies knew they could peel boards away, only to slam their stupid hands against them like it would make much difference.

But seeing the instinctive need to protect made something inside Quinn ache and she looked away sourly.

"West," Santana announced, whispering to Brittany between explanations to get their bags and pack up things behind the counter. The blonde nodded and jogged away. "There are rumors that the outbreak started in the south, spreading from Florida, Alabama, and Texas. I want to get us as far away as possible from those States. There's not much room left on this side of America anyways."

"We should go to New York," Quinn objected suddenly, turning to Santana. Her idea was plausible but if they went through dispersed States of expansive land and forest, with small towns and periodical way stations, there would be less help and resources. New York could be crawling with survivors, maybe as much as zombies, but more people to team up and survive with.

"That's _loco_," Santana spat, interrupting Quinn's abrupt idea and thought-process. The Hispanic's black eyes narrowed. "You're not in charge here anymore, Quinn. This isn't high school. Cheerleading doesn't place in the world. Listen to _me_. We're going towards Oregon."

"Don't patronize me," Quinn snapped, stepping forward. Santana had been getting on her nerves ever since they arrived, pushing aside the few moments of sincerity and actual affection. They were natural rivals and how they ever managed to be friends was beyond her at this point. "What all you're doing is putting us in more danger. Less survivors and more farms between here and there with more of a chance of the outbreak already reaching there if it's here after just three weeks. We wouldn't last long and the cars don't run on fucking _hope_. We're – going - to New York."

"Fine!" Santana shouted, throwing her hands in the air towards Quinn and Rachel, who stood on the sidelines, speechless and paralyzed as ever. "Go to New York. I don't give a _fuck_!"

"We will!" Quinn returned full-force, her face slightly contorting with the extreme of her anger. She took a threatening step forward.

"You're being stupid, Quinn!" Santana mirrored the step, hands at her sides and balled up.

"The _hell_ I'm not! I'm being rational. I'm thinking about who I'm protecting here!"

Quinn could sense Rachel tensing at those words but she was too far gone to care. All that was she focusing on now was Santana and the cocky way the Latina was leaning forward and to the side.

"You think I don't care about Brittany?" Santana shouted, her dark eyes flaring at the statement. The banging on the wood and doors was becoming a flurry. Brittany whined something, lost in the noise of wet gurgles and guttural groaning outside, but Santana didn't notice. "At least I've had the lady balls to tell her how I feel. Have you told Rachel how you feel, Q? You're just a fucking pussy. Go to New York."

Quinn seized up at the words, feeling Rachel's eyes burning holes into the side of her head. That familiar red haze began to ring her vision, something that's happened before. She stopped breathing. Her fists were clenching almost painfully at her sides. Without warning, she launched forward again, catching Santana in the stomach, narrowly avoiding a jagged shelf and ramming her into the ground with a tangle of limbs. She fought her way atop and was soon straddling the Hispanic's slim hips once more, pushing away flailing arms that were nothing compared to the fury that was fueling her actions. Her teeth were bared, gritted together, and her expression wasn't even familiar on Quinn. It _wasn't_ Quinn.

Her right fist reared back and shot down like a piston, clipping Santana in the temple. Unfortunately, her red-hot anger was blinding her, and fortunately for Santana, the skank's next left-handed swing just grazed her cheek. They were still painful and with the momentum to knock her into unconsciousness had they landed correctly. The two strikes were greeted with yelps of pain nonetheless, and then for the second time in her life, there were arms dragging her off Santana, only this time actually belonging to Rachel. She was kicking out, trying to get back at Santana still, but despite her size, the little brunette was successfully pulling her away with incredible strength, her arms tight around the struggling girl's shoulders.

Santana stood with the help of a petrified, confused Brittany, breathing heavily even if hands weren't choking her throat for the second time. Two vicious red marks were rising on her forehead and cheek, reminders of the near misses that could have been much worse. Once she got back to her feet, Brittany's arms around her, either to support her or restrain her, they couldn't tell, she looked at Quinn with a face of mixed Hispanic anger and astonishment.

"Who are you?" she asked, almost yelled, incredulously. Quinn relented her motions, stilling for a moment in Rachel's arms before shrugging them off violently. She stood straight and proud, fixing her denim jacket she's always had on. A very different kind of smirk crossed her lips as she stared down the cheerleader.

"Not what you expected, huh, Lopez?"

* * *

**A/N: I am so sorry this took like, three weeks to update! I have a legit reason: honor programs, college research, job hunting, car shopping, and lack of money. And I'm always tired. But I will get better, I promise!**

**Hope you all enjoyed! Reviews show you love this story and help keep me motivated! You want quicker updates? Send in some reviews!**

**Also, show your love and share this story with friends and Tumblr. :3**

**-x**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

* * *

"_Hey!_"

The voice rang out and it even seemed the undead paused at who had spoken up. Brittany slowly unwound her arms from Santana, who had become stock-still in the hold and slowly looked to the tall blonde in astonishment. Quinn even took on a surprised expression, and Rachel's labored breaths halted, her lips parted like she had begun to drop her jaw.

"Why are we doing this?" Brittany asked, voice raised over the continued assault of the undead on the boarded windows. A crack split a pane but nothing else out of the ordinary occurred, well, except from the unordinary. "Are you two seriously _still_ fighting? All through high school, I just thought it was sibling rivalry or whatever. Now that we're grown ups and out on the world, you would think we could all at least get along so we can live!"

Santana straightened, taking a short breath and reaching up cautiously to touch at her temple. She cast her gaze down to the floor at Brittany's truthful words, realizing her own stupidity and Hispanic stubbornness could have very well split them apart and gotten one of them killed. And no matter how much her and Quinn fought and sometimes even hated one another, she would never wish a death, or a turning no less, on the punk.

"Besides, it's not like we can go anywhere now." Brittany gestured at the echo-inducing rattles from the window and the animalistic snarls. "We're surrounded. And I don't know about you but they're hungry and _not_ for spaghetti."

Then, the only sounds that filled the room was the windows and boards and the calming breaths from the four of them. Despite Brittany's little moments of innocence or misinformation that slipped into her talk, the atmosphere was too somber to correct her. They were trapped and they couldn't leave if they wanted to. They could fight but they were outnumbered, and they didn't have the biggest stock of ammunition to work with. If they gotten to their cars, how would they get inside without the greedy undead hands pulling them back out?

Rachel cast her own gaze to the floor, and when she did, her eyes landed on hers and Quinn's packed duffel bags. She was immediately brought back to the two's first day of the apocalypse, her mind shutting off the outside world for just a minute as what seemed like a film began to play in front of her.

* * *

_"Fine! Don't believe me! Ask _her_ about it, then!"_

_ Finn's words continued to hurt her as she stepped out of the car. It was more of retaliation than to actually hurt him, or maybe she wanted to, she wasn't sure; all she knew was that she was angry… angry at him, at her audition, at herself. She slammed the car door and it was only a moment later after Finn must have processed her action that the sound of his tires peeling out on the street came from behind her. She hunched her shoulders at the noise, forcing herself not to cry. She couldn't cry now. She could later. Right now, she was meeting Quinn and going to settle this once for and for all._

_ Quinn was _not_ the reason she failed her NYADA audition._

_ She didn't want to make eye contact from outside, to have to see that Quinn may have just witnessed everything that happened outside, so Rachel kept her head down and stormed to the Lima Bean coffee shop's glass door, tugging on the handle and flinging it open. When she stepped inside, she looked up to meet the fleeting gazes of several patrons before they were suddenly interested in their cups and magazines. When she noticed Quinn, sitting further in the back of the shop, in a corner near a row of bathrooms and stairs that wound up somewhere else, she knew Quinn saw nothing of what happened. A newspaper laid out on the small table had her attention and she was casually sipping at a small coffee cup._

_ However, when Rachel came close, Quinn's lofty voice met her as she continued to look down at the articles. "Finn learnin' to drag race?"_

_ "No," Rachel snapped instantly, seating herself across from Quinn. The said girl looked up over a pair of dark Aviators, her smoldering eyes already taunting enough before her signature smirk spread across her face. "And why are you wearing glasses inside?"_

_ Quinn sighed and sat up straighter, setting her cup down. She reached up and took the glasses from her nose, throwing them atop the paper and giving Rachel a look that just read "happy now?"._

_ Rachel sat there for a moment longer before standing again, throwing an "I'm getting some coffee" over her shoulder as she stalked back over to the counter. She was suddenly nervous about speaking with Quinn and it was a surprise in its own that the Skank had even agreed to meet with her out of the blue. Before, prior meetings were tried but the former cheerleader avoided her as much as ever. It may have been something to do with it being in school and Quinn had a new reputation to uphold as the leader of her Skank group since the beginning of their senior year, but now she had met her and she couldn't bring herself to think of a way to word her question. To have to admit of the accusations and have her give up her own pride in admitting that she was not accepted to her dream college. Of all people, Quinn just somehow had to be a part of this… the one girl that Rachel wanted to prove more than to herself that she could accomplish anything. Why? She hadn't quite figured that out yet._

_ When she came to the counter, her disposition changed and she politely asked for her usual order of soy milk hazelnut latte with a dash whipped cream. She could find it in herself to take out her frustration and hurt out on an unsuspecting person so it was natural that she reverted back to a more neutral person. She refrained herself from glancing over at Quinn to see if she was watching her, but felt like maybe she was. That was all the confirmation she needed. She drummed her fingers over the plastic covering the counter, reading without comprehending the different fliers beneath the surface until her order was handed over and the money in exchange._

_ Seated once more, Rachel took a scalding sip and looked up. Quinn was watching her but with an expectant glint in her eye. She had a jacketed arm slung over the back of her chair and her other hand idly played with the slightly frayed edges of the newspaper. The lid of her coffee cup was removed and sat with the underside face up, whipped cream lining it with a dip more than likely drawn by a finger missing from it._

_ "Rachel?" Quinn voiced, cocking her head forward as to usher on the discussion, brows raising._

_ "Sorry," she reflexively responded. Her own hands were occupied by her drink in front of her, spinning the cup on her portion of the table. She was never one to stay mad long and now that she wasn't so much anymore, but just hurt rather, she was even more nervous than when she had first sat down._

_ "Sorry for what?" Quinn continued. "Say nothing to offend me… yet?"_

_ "I'm nervous," the brunette admitted, focused on turning the cup on the table._

_ Quinn scoffed, leaned back in her seat, and looked nonchalantly around the shop. "You can get up on this table at any given moment and belt out a song by any artist without a care in the world, but you won't tell me why I had to cancel my plans so I could meet you here because you're _nervous_."_

_ "What plans? Stealing cigarettes?" Rachel quipped, anger returning quicker than she thought._

_ Quinn simply shrugged and lifted her hand from the newspaper to take a drink from her cup._

_ "Finn tells me—" and she cuts herself off. Why she couldn't bring herself to say anything more, she will never know. She only pursed her lips and looked down angrily at the newspaper over her cup._

_ "Finn tells you a lot of things and my personal opinion is that he doesn't know shit about shit."_

STRANGE VIRUS_ – Rachel read, the other girl continuing to slam her boyfriend in the background like some radio turned down. _OFFICIALS WARN OF IMPENDING EPIDEMIC.

_ "What's that article about?" Rachel interrupted as well as hoping to change the subject until she could figure out what to say._

_ A huff met her question but Quinn took the newspaper and turned it around, lifting it slightly for Rachel and so that she could point at a section of the article. She began to explain, summarized._

_ "Something about certain cities south of us having weird reports of cannibalism and this disease that kills people. They've stopped all airlines in and out of the listed states. I doubt anything will come this far up."_

_ "Quinn, this article was a week ago," Rachel noted, taking the top corner of the newspaper and checking the date. "Aren't you worried?"_

_ "These sort of things happen but when they get this widespread, it gets taken care of. I said, I doubt there's anything to worry about. Now, how about we get back to the original topic and get the fuck on with it."_

_ Rachel looked up to reprimand Quinn for her language and impatience when a scream caught everyone's attention and effectively ended their conversation. Both girls looked up from their table to the glass doors, where a man was looming over a struggling woman. A vicious growl could be heard through the now silent coffee shop and the man leaned down to… _bite_ the woman in the forearm that she was using to protect and distance herself from her attacker. Blood spurt from his mouth and ran down her arm and the man reared back to only take another chunk of her flesh from her elbow. The girl shrieked in pain and tried to kick out but in her panic and helplessness, was doing nothing to offend her attacker._

_Like a chemical reaction, the mayhem was immediate. The rest of the coffee shop lurched up like one mass, some gasping in horror, others grabbing at one another, hushed voices like they didn't want the attacker to turn on them spreading across as people began to prepare to leave. Someone opted to call 911. Rachel leapt to her feet, unsure of what to do but knowing she was afraid, when her eye was caught by a woman hobbling across the street. Her eye was hanging from the socket and blood splattered her entire wardrobe, like she had been torn apart and somehow still alive._

_ It seemed like something out of a horror movie and there was no exact reason why it happened all of a sudden. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary when Rachel glared out the window the entire ride to the shop, nor when she stepped out and the past 10 minutes spent trying to find a way to speak with Quinn. Either nothing had honestly happened or she had just been blind to it all. It was like it was all planned, or more like they had just awakened, but the man biting the woman fell atop the now failing victim and the one-eyed woman was now scrabbling at another pedestrian, trying to get to their face, and there was not time to analyze anything any further._

_ A hand seized Rachel by the wrist and she yelped in surprise, but when she looked to face the capturer, it was only Quinn. A new expression was on the rebel, one that held no arrogance, carelessness, bitchiness. Nothing that had become accustomed on her. It was now a mixture of confusion, shock, horror, and… fear. Something that was unheard of on Quinn. She held fast to Rachel and pulled her closer so that she might not lose her, and looked around frantically. More pandemonium broke out as there was a deafening crash outside the shop, a car having swerved to miss what was thought to be a _live_ person and ramming into a parked vehicle. Willed forward, Rachel stumbled as Quinn suddenly brought her towards the stairs, away from everyone else that swarmed to get out of the building, like it was some kind of fire alarm. A woman come from the bathrooms shouldered Rachel nearly to the floor, but Quinn grabbed the lady by the collar and thrust her away, her lip curled up in anger. Taking a steady hold on Rachel again, Quinn began to bring them up the stairs, reaching a door that was heaven-sent and unlocked. Quinn burst through the door, throwing Rachel inside, and turned around to throw her own body against the door as if anyone else had even followed them up and prepared to ram through the door as well. She dead bolted the door, locked the knob, and put the chain lock on before catching Rachel by the hand again and bringing her to the next set of stairs, a small area for storage and leading to an entrance onto the roof. Neither was sure of who was panting, or maybe both of them were, but their breaths were cacophonous in the acoustics of the small stairwell. They jogged up the concrete steps and burst through the next door._

_ Quinn grabbed a brick from nearby to prop the door open until she spotted the key from beneath said item. She let the door swing shut, took the key, and spun around when Rachel wasn't within reach only to see her standing by the edge of the roof. Running over to her, Quinn grabbed her hand again, scared as though Rachel would throw herself over the edge, and together, they watched utter chaos ensue on the streets— people being ripped to shreds, dying and some reanimating, car alarms blaring like multiple sirens through the streets, the alive screaming, the undead pursuing, glass storefronts and windshields breaking, and the end of the world beginning._

* * *

"Up," Rachel blurted out, tearing her eyes away from the duffel bags. "We go up!"

"What?" Santana said lightly; hand now on her cheek where the harder punch had begun to paint a bruise.

"We go onto the roof. Is there any way we can from inside?"

Santana shook her head lethargically, like she was unsure but probably correct, and looked to Brittany for affirmation. The blonde looked from her girlfriend to Rachel and shook her head as well, thinking as she did to no avail.

"The radiator," Quinn chimed in. Rachel turned to look at the girl already watching her. "That man— when he fell on it, he broke part of it down. We can climb up it to get on the roof."

"That means we have to go outside," Santana countered, eyes darting from Quinn to the windows. "And in case you haven't noticed, that's the last thing we want to do unless we want to become a necro's chew toy."

Brittany shot her a warning glance that actually caused the Latina to purse her lips and silence her for the time being.

Quinn shrugged, looking to each of the girls. "We have guns and so far, they're all so worried about getting in that they're just at the front. They may not have figured out to go around back to try. We would have time to get outside and start bringing the stuff up onto the roof before they come around, and when they do, there will be enough distance to pick them off."

Brittany looked to Santana again and a sort of connection passed between them for a moment, one that was like their own bandwidth that no one could tap into, and then they both nodded, Santana reluctantly and Brittany enthusiastically, ready to get to higher ground. The pinkette nodded, pulled her gun from her hip, and grabbed one of the duffel bags Rachel had brought around. She was passing by Brittany when she laid part of her hand not holding onto the gun on the taller girl's shoulder, giving her a respectful and meaningful look of appreciation and solemn, which was returned by a meek smile, and then continued on.

The four girls rounded their belongings and gathered in the small hallway leading outside. Since the incident involving Rachel, Santana had also chained the handle to a pipe in the wall she had knocked through the plaster for, for extra reinforcement in the case that a fresh or Infected wanted to try at breaking down the door. Taking the keys from beneath that tile once more, the Cheerio undid the padlock and then the doorknob. The chains fell away with a line of clinks and the door was left only to be turned.

"I'll follow you out," Quinn broke the silence, eyes trained on the back of Santana's head. The girl by the door looked over her shoulder and only thought a moment before nodding. With the 92 in her right hand, she twisted the doorknob and slowly opened the door, swinging it back towards them. A shaft of light fell inside the dimly lit area and partially blinded the first girl, but there was nothing on the other side of the metal door to meet them. Once her eyes had adjusted, she poked her head out and looked around before the rest of her body followed, gun rising up and swiveling around.

Quinn joined her outside, eyes squinted, everything a bright contrast in the sunlight. She jerked her head in the direction of the broken radiator and Santana began to jog down the cement path as the door behind them swung back shut, as pre-instructed that Brittany and Rachel keep themselves inside until the other two could determine if they could get on the roof. Quinn followed silently behind Santana, watching either end of the complex while her partner worried about climbing the mangled machinery.

Grabbing a hold of a jagged piece of a pole that had impaled the man prior, Santana began to hoist herself up, finding some kind of foot hold as she went along. The dried blood began to peel off the bar and was making the climb difficult. Pulling a rag from the back pocket of her jeans that she's had to use to clean items of blood when her and Britt initially arrived, she rubbed off the caked blood and then tried to hold it again.

"You're not making much progress," a voice said from below her, somewhat snappily.

"Shut _it_, Fabray," Santana quipped back, partially turning her head over her shoulder to make sure the pink-haired girl could hear her while keeping her eyes on what she can grab. She used the current pole and pulled herself closer to the top, finding another foot hold for her other foot, and dragged herself up. Using the leverage of her upper body lying on top of a grate, ridges of metal digging painfully into her ribs, she swung a leg up and proceeded to knock her shin into another jagged piece of metal. With a hiss, she tried again, lifting her leg over the piece so that now half her body was atop. Rolling as much of her body as she could without impaling herself, she finally got to her feet and took the 92 back out of her waistband. Looking down, the metal had ripped through her pant leg and a line of blood was running down to her ankle.

"Fantastic," she muttered, bending to assure the new wound wasn't as bad as it looked.

"What?" Quinn's voice floated up. "Can't we get on the roof?"

Huffing, Santana ignored her leg and looked to the edge of the roof. Even jumping wouldn't get her to grab the edge of it. She needed someone else to boost her up. It was a foot more or more than she could reach.

"Quinn!" Santana whisper-yelled, turning back to kneel at the edge of the radiator. Quinn's face came around the side of the radiator to look up at her. At a time like this, it was sort of refreshing to see a slightly arrogant yet concentrated expression on the former-blonde. Santana smirked. "Could you drop the act for one minute?"

"What act?" Quinn responded, her brows pulling together in confusion and impending anger.

"The one where you're a badass with your pierced nose, new tattoo, pink hair, and want to set the world on fire."

"Setting the world on fire would—"

"Not the point, Q. I mean, can you just be… _Lucy_ for a minute?"

Quinn's mouth became a tight line as she glared up at Santana. It lasted all of a couple seconds before she sighed shortly through her perfect nose and all at once, that expression was gone from her face and it was just purely Quinn, the blonde head-cheerleader, ready to tackle the latest stunt. Santana's smirk softened to a smile. That was an expression she's wanted to see for some time now.

"What do we need, S?" Quinn asked, her voice missing that hard edge that it usually held.

"A boost," Santana replied, glancing up at the ledge. "Not one of us could reach it. All I need is for someone to join me up on the radiator and one of us could help the other reach it."

"But we can get up there?"

Santana nodded, glancing at the closest end of the complex and then back at Quinn.

But Quinn was gone. Throwing open the door in a hurry to get the rest out and up to the roof, Quinn was met with a barrel staring her in the forehead before Rachel lowered the M9.

"You can never be too careful," came to hurried response. Quinn smirked before going into an explanation.

"We can get on the roof, but we need to bring the equipment up first. So come on, start bringing everything outside. We'll hand it up to Santana and she'll throw it over. Stay quiet and watch my back, because I'll be handing the bags up."

The two inside agreed before grabbing the duffel bags and jogging outside, down the narrow pathway. The three reached the ruined fencing around the radiator, where Quinn pulled down the top to the ground and stepped on it to keep it down, as she had first done when her and Santana had come around. She took the first duffel bag, and without warning, swung it up into the air for Santana.

It was that wordless connection between the two girls again because Santana caught the bag without a worry and swung with the rest of the momentum up, the bag disappearing over the ledge and landing with a thud atop the roof. Quinn threw up the next bag, Santana caught it, threw it over. They created a pattern until the very last bag that hit the roof—

"Who fired?" Santana yelped, ducking and covering her head when the gun-shot report echoed around them. The other three girls were in the same position as well, Brittany looking around wildly at the rest to see who was holding their gun. None of them were.

"Did it come from the bag?" Rachel voiced, looking up and slowly taking her hands from her chest, where her heart was beating rapidly in the first place and now had gone into over-drive.

Santana stilled with a look of recognition washing over her face, her eyes staring off in the distance. "One of the guns must've not been on safety and went off."

"Way to—"

"Well, _fuck_," Quinn interrupted, voice more exasperated than to be expected, as she looked over the closest end of the strip. The first walker appeared, looking around groggily and dragging a broken ankle. The last three girls on ground level froze, each of their eyes turned on the zombie, waiting for that moment it would smell them or notice them and start after them. Then, it would only be a matter of time before the rest of the horde joined.

"Rachel, go!" Quinn suddenly commanded, turning towards the brunette. With her boot still holding down the fence, she ushered the small singer to the side of the radiator by grabbing her elbow. Rachel tried to scramble up but in her fright, wasn't getting far, and Quinn's voice had now attracted the walker's attention.

Brittany whipped out her gun from the back of her jeans, the safety clicking off and the barrel cocked. Santana watched for a moment more as her blonde girlfriend's face drained of all emotion and she steeled herself, like she has only done once since this all began, to fire and down a zombie herself. Santana had to then look down and grab at Rachel's sweaty hands to pull her up, because the smaller girl wasn't getting very far on her own, even with Quinn pushing at her thighs to get up. Helping the singer up and maneuvering around the jagged pieces, she brought her to the side of the building and knelt.

"You need to stand on my shoulders," she told her. Rachel complied without further encouragement, carefully stepping up on the Latina's strong shoulders, hands flat against the brick of the building to keep steady. Slowly rising, muscles straining and complaining in her legs and abdomen from the new additional weight, Santana gradually brought Rachel up so that she could touch the ledge. Licking her lips in anticipation, Rachel came to meet the edge of the ledge before Santana was fully standing and dug the tips of her fingers onto it. With the last of Santana's height added to hers, Rachel had a good hold on the ledge and began to pull herself up. She wasn't the strongest girl but adrenaline can do things to a person, like ignoring the screaming of her biceps as she forced herself to be drug over the ledge, swinging a leg up and straddling it before rolling and falling on the gravel that blanketed the roof.

Another fire rang off. Back on the ground, Brittany's gun had a thin trail of smoke rising from the end as the walker at the end of the complex shuddered and crumpled to the pavement, a fresh hole spilling blood from its brain onto the ground. The victory was short lived when the next to come around the building was another walker and two sprinters, who took quick notice of the vulnerable girls and started straight after them.

"Brittany!" Santana screamed, shaking her hands at the side of the radiator for the said girl to come over and be helped up. Another report reverberated off the side of the complex as a bullet struck one in the neck, veering it off course but otherwise not deterring it from its desire. Quinn abandoned the fence and took out her own M9, firing off a round the shattered one sprinter's femur in its leg. The result was immediate, the running body tripping at the loss of support and face-planting across the pavement. The other couldn't care less for the loss of its partner and neared the girls, a sort of hysterical screeching erupting from its torn throat.

"Quinn!" and looking up, Rachel was tossing down a familiar metal bar. Taking her gun in her left hand, Quinn raised her right and caught the pole out of the air, and without a moment to spare, arced the new weapon through the air in front of her to crack viciously against the side of the sprinter's head before he tackled her. The hit was impeccable, the skull splitting apart while throwing the body away from her and Brittany. The zombie feel into the tall grass and didn't rise again.

"Aren't you tired of getting tackled yet?" came Rachel's voice from above, exasperated and only slightly joking. That didn't stop from Quinn from breaking a smile and a scoff. She dropped the metal bar and brought the gun back in her right hand, to fire at the walker and the new crawler she had made before.

Unfortunately, all the noise was attracting the rest of the horde from both sides.

"Hurry the fuck up and get over here!" Santana insisted. Brittany hurried over and started to climb as a sprinter darted from the far end of the complex. Quinn stooped and grabbed the metal pole, but with Brittany struggling as well as the rest of them to get up, Quinn was trapped on ground level. Raising her 92, she aimed, squinting one eye shut and holding her breath so to better steady herself, and pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed the sprinter's temple and hit another zombie's head farther behind, downing that one but not the one coming too close for comfort. Trying again, her aim proved true and brought the runner down a couple feet away.

"Quinn! Now!"

Jumping aside the radiator, she was encumbered with both weapons in hand. Barely balanced, she tossed the metal bar up, and Brittany who hadn't been brought up to the roof yet, caught it. Santana scratched at Quinn's wrists, trying to grab them, and with a yelp of pain, Quinn took a hold of a serrated edge for something to hoist herself up closer. Santana quickly spotted and took the injured hand so that it wouldn't be opened further, and began to pull Quinn up. Finding another hold to grab onto, Quinn was dragged over the side of the radiator with the help of her fellow cheerleaders and not before a sprinter slammed against the side of the metal. It clawed at whatever it could reach, mouth opening and closing with no lips to cover its bloodied teeth.

Grabbing Quinn's good hand, Brittany steadied herself to swing the bar down and slam it against the back of the runner's head. It wasn't enough to kill it but it did fall to the ground, writhing for a few moments as its nerves became unwired.

"Brittany first," Quinn panted, turning back to the rest of them before they could say anything. She checked her footing and squatted a bit, hands cupped in front of her. Santana nodded absently and mimicked Quinn's position, and without another word, Brittany stepped into their hands.

"Just like practice," Santana struggled out, a forced smile on her face.

Quinn nodded, smiling through a grimace of her own. The pressure of Brittany's foot on the slice in her left hand was pushing more blood to run down to her elbow. "Just like practice," she repeated

On the count of three, the two girls lifted the third into the air, who caught hold of the ledge and brought herself over quite easily. Santana turned for Quinn to be hoisted up, but Quinn merely shook her head and crouched, patting her shoulders.

"Quinn—"

"No time for this, Santana," Quinn cut in. She threw a smirk over her shoulder. "Besides, haven't you always wanted to be above me on the pyramid?"

With a scoffed laugh, Santana shook her head in awe and stepped up on Quinn's shoulders. Quinn had forgotten about her shot gun wounds and her bruised shoulder, but they didn't matter. She had to get the best friend she's ever had up to safety and if that meant a little more blood, then it was inevitable. She didn't worry about balance since Santana had been a cheerleader, and stood as quickly as she could without pulling a muscle. Soon, Santana's hands were on the ledge and Rachel and Brittany were helping her up. All that was left was Quinn.

Another body crashed against the side of the radiator and threatened to send the rebel toppling over. She sunk to a crouched position for better stability and looked around as yet another sprinter had reached the radiator from the far side and was trying desperately to get at her. The one that had been hit in the head by Brittany was getting its feet, blood streaming from its ear in a constant flow. Not that it mattered. It was already dead.

Looking up, Santana's face was haloed by the bright sunlight, but she could see her leaning far over the side, hands reaching down for her. Standing, Quinn paused to aim down at the new sprinter and fire. Her bullet ripped through its socket and it fell backwards off the radiator, as it had actually begun to somewhat climb. That aspect was frightening, and Quinn turned back for the roof. Putting the safety on, she stuck her gun in her cargo pants and tried to reach for Santana's hands without jumping, which was unsuccessful. The other runner had begun to attempt to climb as well, and with that spurring her rescue, Brittany's body leaned over as well, both hands outstretched for Quinn. Jumping, her hands slipped through the four waiting for her. She tried again and Brittany's caught her left hand. A noiseless screaming came from the pressure on her hand again and she gasped in pain, blood staining lines in her jacket. Swinging her right arm up, her hand hit Santana's and finally, they both had a hold of Quinn. Walking up the side of the building to help the other two pull her up, she gasped again as the pain in her hand became unbearable. She almost tugged her hand away and she thought she heard cries of apologies from the girl holding it, but she wasn't sure.

Abruptly, her left boot stopped moving on the wall. She thought it had gotten snagged on something, and upon looking down, the rest of her body failed her. An undead had a hold of her by the laces, dragging her back down. Its other hand grabbed the toe of her shoe and bringing it close enough, the zombie's mouth opened to bite into the rubber. A strangled scream came from Quinn out of sheer panic and she lurched out, tearing her boot away and striking the thing in the head. It stumbled backwards but somehow managed to keep balance and came back. The lurch, however, was unbeneficial to Brittany and Santana, who both let out a cry of agony. They barely had a hold of Quinn and anything to keep leverage, so it was more than less just their bodies and muscles getting Quinn up, and with her tugging her injured hand away or kicking at a zombie, they were afraid of losing her.

Rachel shouldered between both girls and leaned far down enough to seize Quinn by the collar of her shirt, and not just her jacket. Teeth digging dangerously close to drawing blood from her lip, Rachel with the help of the two cheerleaders, brought Quinn the rest of the way up, so that her knee lifted up and caught the edge of the roof. By instinct, Quinn used her knee like a piston and threw herself over the edge of the building. All four of them flew back with the release of weight holding them down, and of course, Quinn landed on Rachel.

The moment was familiar. Quinn started to push herself up but she only got as far as putting a few inches' distance between their faces, hands braced on either side of Rachel's face. The brunette started to lift her head up but stilled at the same time, and they were suspended in each other's eyes, just gazing at one another, the only sound between them the sharing of ragged breaths. Quinn felt the indescribable urge to kiss Rachel again, to kiss her and pour all her love from the past three years into it, but refrained behind the simple fact that Rachel may not have those feelings back, and she'd rather be suppressed than rejected. She tried to see if there was something telling her to do it, to lean down and close the gap, to kiss her, in Rachel's eyes, but there was just the reflection of her own expression there.

"Just kiss her already," Santana's voice split the silence. All at once, the sound of struggling zombies and the gravel crunching beneath their bodies returned, like someone was turning the volume up after being muted.

Quinn suddenly made an indignant noise and pushed herself away, wiping the stone dust from her hands and inspecting her new wound.

"Can't," she said to them all simply.

And all at once, it was Quinn's pride that was on the line. After being rejected back in the bathroom in the company of herself to cry, now there were the rest of them there to see it and that just wouldn't happen. She was a Fabray and Fabrays aren't weak. They are masters of disguise, strong-willed, and unyielding to love. Her parents' marriage wasn't about love, it was about two reputable families reproducing and bringing further generations of powerful children into the world. She had been taught well, and though she may not look like the ideal Fabray, she was still one at heart, and that meant, she had to protect it.

* * *

**A/N: So I had a nasty bout of writer's block. Everytime I opened a document, I would get a short paragraph in, get frustrated because I couldn't get into character, and close out. I was so pissed off, you had no idea. And then this magical show came along called The Walking Dead that I have become obsessed with and has renewed my vigor in writing this, as well as bringing about later chapter ideas. ;)**

**So, please don't hate me because I really love you!**

**Reviews please!**

**-x**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

* * *

Night had fallen. With it, so had the temperature. Weather in the month of June in Lima, Ohio had temperatures dropping to 50 degrees at night, potentially colder. Santana had been dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and boots when Quinn and Rachel had first found her, and now donned a jacket with the hood drawn up over her head. It wasn't terribly cold, but it could get that way if they didn't try to preserve warmth. Brittany had just been wearing cargo shorts that cinched just below her knees, and a t-shirt with her Cheerio sneakers, and she was lucky that Rachel had found a pair of black sweatpants for Quinn that the other blonde could borrow, as well as a hoodie Santana snagged.

Quinn stood at the edge of the building facing the front, a hand loosely resting on the hilt of her 92 at her hip. She didn't bother putting on more clothing, but she did shrug off her denim jacket to drop over Rachel's shoulders as she sat around an artificial fire that was really just a high-powered camping lantern Santana had stashed in one of her duffel bags. The rebel said nothing as she passed, not wanting to see the questioning look from Rachel or the teasingly-knowing one from Santana, and now stood looking down at the small swarm of zombies that hadn't been smart enough to wander around back like most of the horde. One undead had become comatose and lounged almost as if it were dead against the left rear tire of the car the two ex-high school students arrived in. The others staggered around, perhaps forgetting that the girls were atop the roof now, or just too worn for the moment to care. The girl at the ledge was holding a brick from a small pile they had found at one end of the complex, like workers were planning to prepare building a second story, and held it over open air. She closed an eye, aimed, and then let it go. A few seconds later and there was a wet crack as the lucky chance of a corner stabbed through the skull of a walker, bringing the foe to the ground.

Turning back, Quinn walked and came to join the rest around the large blue-white radiance of the lantern.

"So, what's the plan?" she asked as she sat a respectable distance from everyone else in the circle.

"Come morning, we leave," Santana said simply, as if it were that easy to do. She sat beside Brittany on one of their duffel bags that just contained clothing. They held hands nonchalantly as though they were all just friends on a camping trip and not surrounded by the hungry undead. Brittany had her head resting on Santana's shoulder, looking sleepy and staring into the lantern light.

"Well, that's genius," Quinn replied sarcastically, cocking her head at the Latina. "Why hadn't we thought that in the first place?"

"Don't start with me, Quinn," Santana lightly snapped back. "You're tired and so am I. We need to rest."

"Whatever," came the one-worded response as the punk looked down at her left hand and played with the new dressing to her palm. The laceration wasn't deep enough for stitches but definitely needed something to stem the flow. Brittany had been kind enough to step up and wrap the gauze to a suitable fit and tape it down when they were all safe on the building.

On a second thought, Quinn stood and came over to crouch beside Rachel. The brunette looked up from staring at the top of the lantern, blinking at the encompassing darkness that Quinn was shrouded in. Without a word, the former-blonde began to paw over the pockets of her jacket that Rachel wore until she found what she wanted in a buttoned pocket. She pulled out the crumpled carton of cigarettes and a mini-lighter.

"If you're going to smoke that cancer-stick, take that somewhere else," Santana demanded, her voice a tad muffled as the corner of her mouth was now pressed against the top of Brittany's head endearingly.

Quinn bit her tongue and turned away to stalk off to the farthest end of the complex, where the light of the lantern faded the most from. She sat down on the ledge, letting her legs dangle, and could just make out the figure of a walker on the sidewalk below, dragging a foot. She selected a cigarette, stuck it between her lips, and switched on the lighter, bringing the flickering light to the end of the rolled tobacco and lighting it. She took a deep breath, held before it began to burn, and released it as a cloud of darker smoke. It felt good. It felt natural. She hadn't done this for a near week, since that night in the gas station when Rachel's eyes were compromised by the smoke of the fire and they had to escape another walker. She idly traveled back to when she had been sitting in their car, looking out the rear view mirror as she heard the shattering of a glass window and saw the corpse leaning over the divider at Rachel, trying desperately to claw at her even as the brunette retreated farther into the store. She remembers the overwhelming feeling of needing to protect the singer, and how dare that _stupid_ undead attempt to touch her in a way no one even alive should. It had been a sort of haze when she found herself flying backwards, foot punching the pedal, and slamming against the side of the zombie, hearing that satisfying crunch of its skull beneath the tires despite how sick it should be any other day. She had turned to look into the gas station afterwards to see Rachel holding her hand with the blood running down her wrist and feeling terrified that she may have potentially been bit or gotten some of the oozing produce of the creature in her wound. When she did get the girl inside the car, she had wanted to so dearly to grab her and hold her and make sure she wouldn't lose her.

It is amazing how many times Quinn had to refrain herself from overstepping boundaries.

"Quinn?"

The said girl swiveled around in surprise. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could make out the outline of a girl in an over-sized studded jacket, holding it around her with her small hands balled against her chest. She almost smiled but put the cigarette back between her teeth and took another breath.

"Mind if I have one?"

"No," came Quinn's only and strict response. She looked down between her knees again at the corpse. It heard them talking, even quietly, and was now scratching at the brick walls, wailing softly, like it knew there was no chance of it reaching them.

"Why not?" Rachel asked, sounding a little affronted.

_Because I love you. Because it'll ruin your voice. Because it's not you._

"I don't have many left," Quinn said instead, taking another drag and releasing them in smoke rings, a trick Puck taught her one day when they were skipping PE.

"Fine." Rachel's jean-clad legs swung over the side of the ledge and she sat herself beside Quinn, watching the other girl intently with a gleam in her eye that no dark could burn out. It was that determined gleam she had seen many times before. "There is nowhere for you to go and nothing to talk yourself out of. I tried to talk to you before but I was scared, and then all hell broke loose. We _need_ to talk."

"You're doing most of the talking," Quinn said nonchalantly, picking a fray in her cargo pants. The cigarette hung from the corner of her lip, the cherry at the end the only lighting illuminating her angular features. On a whim, Rachel reached and took the cigarette from Quinn's mouth, flicking it off the side of the building. The cherry disappeared as the night swallowed it up.

Without a word, Quinn pulled out her carton of cigarettes and selected another cigarette, looking Rachel square in the eye as she stuck it between her lips. Before she could even switch on her lighter again, Rachel took that cigarette as well and threw it down by the walker.

"I told you I don't have many left!" Quinn snapped, looking down at the zombie unaffected by the rolled tobacco hitting it on the shoulder and falling by its broken feet.

"You shouldn't be smoking those, Quinn. That's not who you are."

If Quinn found that statement uncanny to what she had thought not a minute earlier, she didn't show it. Instead, she gave Rachel her patent glare from their rivalry days in high school, only it seemed more dangerous than powerful since she had become a Skank. At least when she was the head Cheerio, her glares gave the powerful idea of "I could destroy your social reputation and create the most horrific rumors about you". Now, they were a little more like "I'm going to gut you". But like all glares had gone over before, Rachel stood (or sat actually) her ground and didn't cower away.

"It is who I am now," Quinn finally spoke, lifting her nose. It reminded Rachel of preppy school-girl Quinn.

"I don't believe it. I believe it is all an act because you've been hurt and screwed over more times than the typical high school student and you don't want it to happen again, so you pretend that not giving a shit for the world or anything on it is the only answer. But I've told you before, Quinn, you are better than that. You have a beautiful voice that could easily match mine if you strived for it, you're brilliant, you don't need to imagine that hiding behind all this rebellious nonsense is going to protect you from screwing up again because all it's doing is pushing away the ones that _want_ to be in your life." Rachel took a deep breath, panting a little as she had prattled on so fast. It just came out of nowhere, bottled away and hoped to be buried, but it was obviously something that she had been meaning to say for a long time, or at least since Quinn went on this little phase at the beginning of their senior year.

Quinn didn't flinch, but inside, Rachel had hit all the right chords. How Rachel could always be so annoying and irritating, with her perfect voice and acting, yet be so honest and truthful at the same time, the punk will never understand. She never did and she suspects she never will. And truthfully, Quinn doesn't believe there is or will be another person in the world who will be just like Rachel.

"Here. Take them." Quinn stood from the ledge of the building and shoved the carton of cigarettes and the lighter into the small girl's hands, not wanting to talk about anything. She turned to walk away, jaw clenched, when Rachel spoke up again.

"I don't want them."

Spinning on her heel, her eyebrows knitted together in frustration. "Then why did you ask for one?"

"To get you talking. I knew you wouldn't give me one." Rachel shrugged a shoulder sheepishly and gave a meek smile. She turned to drop the carton over the side of the building as well, then pocketed the lighter and stood up. It took a lot of courage to do what she did next.

She came to Quinn's side and stood up on her tip-toes, pressing her lips firmly against Quinn's cheek. She lingered there for a second before pulling away, a hand still on Quinn's elbow that had supported her. She squeezed it, watching Quinn's face go from subtle anger to… nothing, and flashed another feeble smile.

"We will discuss things later then," she said. She let go of Quinn's arm and walked back to the lamp-light, where the other two Cheerios were settling down beneath a couple blankets to get some sleep. Quinn watched her walk away, swathed in her bigger jean-jacket, her chocolate hair lifting in the light breeze, and while no one was watching, reached up to her cheek.

* * *

Taking one last swipe through the grove of the barrel from Quinn's dissected M9, she folded her bandana, a tad grimy, and stuck it in her cargo pants' pocket. Taking the cleaned items, just like she had been taught by the airman in the first week of the apocalypse, she placed the barrel within the slide, assembled the coil, and lined it up with the lower half of the gun. With a shuddering clink, she let the two assemblies lock back into regular position, her gun cleaned and reassembled for the first time since she had laid her hands on it.

"Should I be concerned you know how to handle a gun that well?" a voice spoke up from across the dimmed lantern light.

Quinn shrugged a shoulder. She lined the foresight up with a target, checking to assure the weapon was properly aligned. If there was any misplacement, the entire aim could be thrown off and of all times, now was not time to miss your target. "Your call."

Santana stood from where she awakened beside Brittany and tugged her small jacket tighter around her frame. She stepped around their duffel bags to quietly join the former-blonde on her perch of a couple bricks she had stacked up so she could have some sort of seat rather than sitting on the ground.

"My dad taught me how to handle a gun," Santana said truthfully, watching Quinn handle the current one as she switched on the safety. She took the magazine clip and slid it easily back into its chamber. "Though, I don't think he ever had the idea of using them in case of a zombie emergency."

"You do live in Lima Heights," Quinn jested meekly. Santana gave a short chuckle past her teeth.

"I _did_," she corrected gently.

Quinn lowered the gun and turned to face the Latina. "You don't think we'll go back?"

"Go back to what, Quinn? Everything we had, everyone we know— they're gone."

"We survived," Quinn noted, glancing at sleeping Brittany and Rachel. "If we survived, why couldn't your father, who taught you to use a gun? Or Puck, Mercedes… Ms. Sylvester?"

Santana stifled another laugh in the shoulder of her jacket. When she looked up, she had a melancholic smile on her face, like she was talking to a naïve child. "Do you really think Ms. Sylvester could survive? I mean, that _loco_ lady is 90% walk and 10% 6 consecutive National Championship Cheerleading trophies."

"C'mon, Santana," Quinn said, cocking her head exasperatedly. "You can't talk about her like that. We don't have _room_ to be deciding who lives and who… _comes back_. I mean, look at Brittany… and Rachel. Would you ever expect them to make it through something like this on their own?"

Santana glanced over at her sleeping blonde girlfriend beneath a couple thin blankets, the little smile dropping from her face. Quinn was right. Santana couldn't talk like that, joking about something as serious as people's actual lives here. She bit in the inside of her cheek.

"Have you heard from Puck?" Quinn said, changing the subject into something a little easier to digest, taking out her bandana again to wipe at the outside of her gun just for something to do with her hands.

"No," Santana said, eyes falling to her shoes. "When the school day ended, he said he was going to hit up some bars later that night, needed to take a load off, maybe pick up a girl. I just let him go do his thing, didn't bother texting him or anything."

"Anybody else?" Quinn prodded, digging a corner of bandana in a rivet.

"I think I saw Tina with Mike going to his car," the darker girl said, straining to actually remember. "If there's hope for them, it's Mike protecting Tina. Other than that, I stuck around for a little bit so Brittany could finish up with whatever she does as Student Council President and then took her back home. I didn't talk to anybody."

Quinn nodded, lips in a tight line as she thought back to their "last" day of school. She can't even remember her school schedule, but that wasn't just from these past weeks. She had gotten into the habit of skipping classes and going behind the bleachers to smoke, even taking to some marijuana though it didn't exactly have the same affects it did on most people. Must be genetics and she couldn't be swayed that way. It just so happened that day that after Rachel had texted her that they had to meet after school, she finished her ritual smoke with the Skanks and parted from them, deciding to get off campus. She had gotten her father to trade in her little red Volkswagen Bug for something more her style and got into her small, black, former-drag race car. She took out of that school like she knew the virus was going to crop up.

"Do you think things will ever get better?" Santana interrupted Quinn's thoughts.

"You're asking me. You're the one who watched all those zombie apocalyptic movies," Quinn pointed out.

"They weren't always anatomically correct, or used the correct procedures to stay alive. And besides, you can't fit something that will affect the rest of your life into a two hour movie, tops. The endings always summed up to the characters dying."

"That's hopeful."

"It's not like they had anything solid to base their movies off of."

"Until now."

"Says you— I repeat, _there is no one left, Quinn_."

"Are you done with the pity party?" Quinn snapped, shoving her bandana away and tossing her M9 to land on a duffel bag near Rachel. She turned to give the other girl a solid glare. "Because I've kept watch most of the night and I'd like to get some sleep, so if you don't mind, I'm going to leave you to wallow in the choices of fighting for the girl you love or giving up and letting walkers tear you apart."

Without waiting for a response or an expression, Quinn stood and moved around the bags to where Rachel lay. The small girl was curled up beneath a single blanket and the rebel's jacket, fast asleep, her chocolate hair cascading across her face. She glanced over at Santana to assure the girl was going to take watch, and saw her taking out the clip of her 92 so that she could clean it, her jaw clenched and her eyes fiery. She obviously wanted to say something back in defense to Quinn's snap but didn't have the time or the willpower to create a fight.

Lying beside the singer, Quinn had no hesitance in lifting the blanket to throw over her shoulder and wrapping an arm around the girl's waist. In her sleep, Rachel balled up tighter, her back arching. Quinn knew it was all purely subconscious but she licked her lips at the pressure provided on her lower abdomen by the swell of Rachel's lower back and ass. Forming around the curve of the girl's back, Quinn allowed herself to nuzzle her nose into the dark mass of Rachel's hair, smelling the faint scent of shampoo that she had used a couple days prior when they had last taken their baths. She closed her eyes and let herself imagine that for tonight, for that moment, Rachel was honestly hers as Brittany was truly Santana's, and that it was appropriate and right for her to hold the small singer, to comfort her, to protect her. As her mind drifted into slumber fairly quickly, scenarios began to play behind her eyelids like a film reel, and a ghost of smile tipped up the corner of her pink lips as she thought of kissing Rachel, a smile appearing on that perfect mouth afterwards, a blush coming to her cheeks because Quinn Fabray just kissed Rachel Berry and it was the right thing to do.

* * *

When Rachel roused from sleep only a couple hours later, it was still dark, but with a promise of the next sunrise on the eastern horizon. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as the internal reflex to call for Quinn came to her, but she was suddenly aware of a muscled arm wound about her ribs. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled softly. Quinn was still asleep, not a crease or stress line on her face, looking as angelic as ever… or as could be with fading pink hair. She carefully dug her arm beneath Quinn's to pry the hand holding her off without waking the said girl, and then fully turned to look at her. She didn't consider how long she gazed at the pale-skinned girl, but it was all she could do. The small burn on her cheek from the fire was healed and all that remained was a small pink ring that would disappear with time too. The bandages that had once concealed her own inflicted gunshot fragments were missing, and the raw wounds were left exposed. Most of them managed to seal together, ridges of darker pink and slightly irritated lines. An area that had actually taken a chunk of her neck was still open but looked glazed over with some sort of natural protection her body provided. Following the line of her shoulder, Rachel furrowed her brow and allowed herself to lift a hand and tenderly pull down the sleeve of Quinn's shirt. Lightening bruising painted over her shoulder, of some cause or action that Rachel didn't know about. She stroked a finger around the circle, where it was lightest and nearly even with the rest of Quinn's skin. Hopefully it didn't cause her too much pain and it would vanish without a trace.

"Don't you love her?"

Startled by the voice, Rachel glanced over towards the center of the ring of duffel bags. It wasn't Santana who had spoken but Brittany. The tanned girl was actually lying out on top of a row of duffel bags, namely clothing, with her head propped up in Brittany's lap. The soft glow of the lantern had dimmed since she had been awake, to preserve battery life or because the sun was coming up soon, she couldn't decide.

"I don't know what you mean," Rachel replied evenly. It was a simple enough question… just one that she didn't understand how it was implied in hers and Quinn's very complicated relationship.

Brittany rolled a shoulder like a half-attempted shrug. "The way you woke up and immediately turned to Quinn— you love her." The look on the other blonde's face was serious, if not sympathetic, and she absently ran her fingers through Santana's hair that had been let down from its rustled pony the evening before.

Seeing as it was just Brittany, and someone who was unpredictably intuitive, Rachel couldn't find a reason to not be truthful. All through high school, through the minimal amount of interaction, they had some sort of complacency between them. There was no rivalry with the certain blonde unlike she faced with Santana and Quinn. During a time like this, anything else was hardly important and what else did she have left to lose?

"I'm… not sure," Rachel responded, letting her hands drop into her lap, which happened to be Quinn's jacket. The former-Cheerio let her have the most covers during the night, opting to stick with half the thin blanket. All the gestures of affection and all they have been through together were just lining up before her, blatantly staring her in the face, but she still couldn't wrap her head around it.

"She loves you," Brittany said, tilting her head at Rachel before dropping her eyes to Santana. She took her fingers from the dark hair and instead began to smooth away the stray strands from Santana's calm face. Her chest rose evenly with much needed sleep, and her hands were crossed over her stomach, her 92 sitting, safety on, beside the duffel bags.

"How would you know?" Rachel asked without the slightest intention to be rude. She looked up from messing with a seam in Quinn's jacket, giving Brittany a practically vulnerable expression.

Brittany returned the expression with a pondering one of her own, and then took her sweatshirt and balled it up. She carefully cradled Santana's head and slipped out from under her, putting the sweatshirt in her place. The Latina hardly stirred, only moved to grasp the sweatshirt beneath her cheek, and continued to sleep. Freed, Brittany moved closer to the lantern and picked up a backpack that she carried out of the stores herself, opening it. She waved her hand for Rachel to join her and then stuck her hand inside the depths of the backpack. She pulled out Pop Tarts and a water bottle, handing a package to the brunette as she sat beside the cheerleader.

"Look at Santana and Quinn," Brittany started, opening her package and taking a bite of the slightly stale pastry. "They had been friends for most of their lives and they love each other to death. But they fight. A lot. About everything and anything. They even hit each other and you saw that. But when it comes down to it, if you look beneath it all, beneath all the Mexican words and the anger, it's all out of love for each other. They just don't know how to show it any other way. If you haven't noticed, they've never stopped being friends no matter how many fights they've had, and that means something."

Rachel nodded, even smiling through her bite of her Pop Tart when Brittany once again called Santana's Spanish tongue Mexican. What Brittany was saying was right. They have a strange dynamic, but so does Rachel and Quinn on their own. And now that Rachel thinks about it, Quinn and Santana have always been friends despite their frequent and often rough patches. It never stopped them from caring about one another.

_If you look beneath it all…_

She swallowed her bite without really finishing it, but it helped to serve pushing down the lump in her throat. Brittany was quiet beside her, eating her breakfast, but maybe she was because she knew Rachel had been hit with a revelation that left her speechless and motionless.

The moments, the words, the interactions, the fighting, the rivalry, they all came hurdling back to her, disorganized and out of chronology. Each scene was like a pang of hurt in her chest all over again, the same pain she experienced every day Quinn had been awful to her, had bullied her, had bested her, had made her high school career actual hell on earth.

_You can't hate me for sending you on your way._

_ I don't hate you._

_ You just did what I was too afraid to do; tell the truth._

_ You're the shiniest star of us all._

_ … I'm so sorry._

_ I wanted to thank you, actually._

_ You're a lot better than you know._

_ Everyone deserves to be happy._

_ I'm sad not seeing you in the choir room._

_ I'm not going to watch you ruin your life…_

_ Don't you know what you mean to me?_

And was Brittany right? Did Quinn say and do all those things, did _she_ say and do all those things… because beneath the surface, _they love each other_?

Blinking, she realizes she had been staring at the ground for God knows how long. She glanced at Brittany, who seemed unfazed by Rachel's abrupt silence. Setting aside the hardly eaten Pop Tart, Rachel grabbed the water bottle and took a drink, eyes darting past the bottle to look at Quinn now turned on her side, jacket and blanket wrapped around her form, her pink hair a mess around her temple. She won't deny that it felt nice to wake up in someone's arms… scratch that, _Quinn_'s arms. She's been in Finn's arms many times but it isn't the same as having the other girl's hand holding her hip firmly, even in slumber. And the way her face was so close to the back of her head, that she actually had to take her hair from beneath Quinn's head when she sat up, it was no accident that they had slept close together.

"Maybe you should go back to bed," Brittany suggested, finally eyeing Rachel. Her voice hinted intention behind having to go back over by Quinn, but also concern. Her hands must have been shaking, or Brittany just wanted to grab her attention, but suddenly Rachel's hand was wrapped up in the light blonde's. Looking back, Brittany was leaning forward a bit, all attention on the brunette.

"Go to her, Rachel. Get some sleep. It _was_ nice talking with you."

Rachel nodded again, offering a small smile. She squeezed Brittany's hand in hers, wordlessly thanking the tall Cheerio for everything she has said and given her in this past hour, and stood up. She let their hands fall and walked back over to Quinn, gazing down at the figure beneath the thin fabrics, and then crouched down. Taking the hem of the jacket and blanket, she slipped cautiously beneath it, facing Quinn's back. Mustering her courage, she slowly laid an arm over the sleeping girl's waist, quickly finding her bare arm and trailing down it to her wrist, and then fingers. Her breath caught in her throat when lethargic fingers responded to her touch and laced messily between hers, pulling her entire body closer so that she was pressed against Quinn's back. Allowing a content smile across her lips, Rachel curled against the bigger girl, her hand comfortable in the other's.

* * *

"Fore!"

Quinn jerked from sleep, the sun beating down her face, a hand in hers, and a shout waking her. Turning over, she first glanced at what was Santana's figure by the ledge to the back of the strip mall. She had a golf club raised directly over her head and Quinn saw her just in time as she brought it blazing back down, glinting in the sunlight. A resounding crack split the silence after Santana's cry and there was the unmistakable thud of a body falling. Santana straightened once more, raising the golf club. The end of the driver was dripping with blood and what appeared to be a chunk of skin, which prompted the Latina to shake the weapon out over the edge of the roof to knock the offending piece off.

"That's not how you play golf," Quinn spoke up, rubbing her free hand in her eye. She could barely think, let alone wonder why Rachel's hand was in hers as the second thing at the front of her mind, but the comment came naturally.

"I don't plan on becoming a lesbian golfer," Santana snapped back, dropping the bloody club on the ground beside the ledge and walking back over to the makeshift camp. She sat beside Brittany and pecked her on the lips before picking up a previously opened Pop Tart package and taking a bite from it.

Quinn scoffed a laugh and finally looked down at Rachel. The girl's legs were in perfect alignment with her own, like she had molded against her back somehow during the night, seeing as she had been the one to join the other and not the other way around. In her right hand was Rachel's, loosely joined together. Before she could think about it, she let her thumb absently stroke over the offered skin of Rachel's palm. It felt nice to do something as simple as such.

She let their hands slip apart carefully, so that Rachel could get the last few minutes of sleep if she wanted them. As she stood, she took her jacket, the weather having warmed up, and took a corner of the blanket to place over Rachel's eyes, so that the sun wasn't so harsh on them. They were that tired that they could manage to sleep during the day.

"Sleeping Beauty finally awake?" Santana jested as Quinn joined them at a short brick table they had fashioned for the lantern to sit on during the night.

"How long did I sleep in?" Quinn decided to ask, ignoring Santana and grabbing a muffin she saw sitting atop a food supply inside a backpack. She unwrapped her breakfast and took a bite.

"Well, let's see," Santana spoke up. She glanced an imaginary watch on her wrist, looking as if she really was reading her skin. "About a hair past a freckle."

"Funny," Quinn deadpanned through another bite. Brittany nudged Santana, shooting a warning glare that the other Cheerio rolled her eyes at. She turned her attention to her piece of Pop Tart to pick at.

"What is?" a voice spoke behind Quinn. The three of them looked up to see Rachel running a hand through her disheveled hair, approaching the circle.

"Quinn's hair," Santana piped up instantly. An elbow nicked her in the ribs and she hissed softly at the offender.

"Oh, that reminds me," Rachel said, not missing a beat. She looked around at the duffel bags before finding one that seemed to just hold clothing. They all watched with mild interest at the singer who dug through articles until she found what she was searching for. Pulling from the depths of the duffel bag, she revealed a box of hair dye. Santana visibly brightened up, having always wanted to kidnap Quinn and give her a bath and change her hair color back to normal.

"I found this in the grocery store," Rachel explained, standing at the edge of the circle. She presented for all to see the blonde hair dye. She turned to Quinn and gave her a sheepish look. "I thought that since the pink is fading and your roots have started to show anyways, we could dye your hair back to normal… maybe?"

Quinn glanced at Santana who gave her a smile and a nod, absolutely giddy, and Brittany, who was actually beaming at Rachel like she was doing something that was approved of. She moved her eyes back to Rachel and the almost apologetic appearance on her face. She swallowed. It's not that she'd miss her pink hair (okay, a little) but she was more afraid that she couldn't live up to the reputation of protecting any of them. Behind the dark clothing, make up, and hair, she gave off the aura of being able to tackle any situation, and she rather enjoyed that kind of power. It was different than the kind she had as a Cheerio.

"Look, Q, I know you love your nasty strawberry hair but it's not like it really matters," Santana jibed. She gestured at Quinn. "It would be nice to see resemblance of a time before all this shit. C'mon, it doesn't change anything… well, it makes you look better, but whatever."

Taking a breath, she stood up, facing Rachel. The girl almost recoiled, as if Quinn was really going to be mad at her for wanting to dye her hair back to its normal blonde. Deciding it best to not say anything, she reached forward and took the box from Rachel's hands.

There was a throaty groan from outside the circle.

"Oh, hold up," Santana said, jumping up. She briskly walked over to the back of the building again and took up the club. "Fore!" she shouted again and swung downward once more. There was a crack and a quickly accompanying thump, like the corpse had also hit the wall before the sound of chain link fence being disturbed rung out. With a shred of hard laughter, Santana turned back around, dropped the club once more, and joined them. She even stooped to pick up the half full water bottle with a wide smile.

"Alright. Let's dye."

* * *

**N/A: HA. Awful pun. I'm terrible, I know.**

**So, this was just a big fat filler. Feel free to throw loser candy at me.**

**I just wanted to build some relationships and give some down time to the girls before serious shit happens. I also wanted some feelings and found some of my favourite Faberry quotes. Brownie points if you know which eps they're from! :D**

**I hope everyone has a very Happy Halloween! I may update after Halloween, make it the best chapter yet, as a gift to all you fantastic readers! So expect gore, language, and delicious Faberry because the tensions just might break!**

**-x Caitlyn**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

* * *

"How many are there?"

Rachel didn't look up from cleaning the shotgun via instruction by a freshly dyed-blonde Quinn when she asked Santana the question.

"41, at the highest count." Santana came to a halt between Brittany, who was taking inventory of bags and removing what wasn't necessary to lighten the load, and Quinn teaching Rachel to take care of their firearms. "I think more showed up during the night…" she added, putting her hands on her hips loosely in thought.

Brittany looked over her shoulder at her girlfriend, a worried gleam in her innocent eyes. She twisted her lips to bite the inside of her cheek better and faced the bags again after a moment's thought to return sifting through clothing. She was trying to find extra room to store some bandaging.

"I don't want to start another fight and hell knows it's very possible," Quinn started, letting Rachel alone to wipe the barrel of her M9. "But we do need to discuss what we are going to do once we have the opportunity to leave: if we stick together or go our separate ways." She stood up, crossing her arms casually.

"I want to stay together," Brittany immediately piped up, turning all the way around on her haunches to face the rest of the group. Santana glanced at her, her face contemplative as they could tell she was thinking before she speaks. She crossed her arms, and then looked towards Quinn with a stolid expression in her eyes. Quinn already knew the answer as soon as they made eye contact and she identified what that expression meant.

"I want to take Britt to Oregon," Santana said resolutely. "I want to get as far west as possible. Look, Q, I get where you're coming from; New York and up there would be great— you might even find a small military base! But say you _don't_? What if it's _all_ infested with walkers? You would be outnumbered so quick, you wouldn't have time to fire a single round. I really think you should head west… _with us_."

Quinn bit her tongue to keep from wanting to snap out a comment. Instead, she turned a little on her heel to look down at Rachel, needing confirmation for her to continue on their behalf. The brunette had stopped momentarily in her process of cleaning the next firearm to return the gaze given by the blonde. What Quinn could gather… Rachel was leaving this to her, either from wanting to not get involved in what is sure to become an argument with Santana, or she truly believed in Quinn's decisions.

Which sort of unnerved her. Rachel always has a powerful voice.

"Why go west, though? Think about the distance between here and there with hundreds of miles of plains in between and no guarantee of road stations to stop and fill up on whatever is needed, like gas or food."

"We could follow the highway or interstate," Brittany offered.

"What if they are all blocked?" Rachel countered, finally speaking up. "You've seen the traffic accidents just around Lima— what's to say it is any better out on those roads?"

"Well, that does answer one question," Santana pointed out, gesturing in approval to at least half of what Rachel was saying and referring to what Quinn had voiced earlier. "If the interstates are jammed up with cars, we could at least get some fuel siphoned and grab some food or whatever we need."

"They would be stale," Quinn said.

"Unless packaged or sealed," Santana replied, shrugging a shoulder. "Stale food is better than no food, anyways."

"Why west?" Rachel repeated.

"From what I've heard, if the infection began to spread from the south-east, then there would less of the virus, or next to none, over there," Santana reasoned. "I mean, this outbreak couldn't have started without warning the rest of the States. Airlines had to have been shut down and some places could refuse to let in any refugees to keep the virus from spreading. There has to be some kind of precaution to this, some kind of national epidemic procedure the government must be prepared with. The world can't just all go to hell like the movies, there actually has to be some kind of reality to this."

"_Santana_," Rachel said exaggeratedly. "Reality? Science fiction just became reality. Nothing about this is _normal_."

"It's not just the virus that we have to deal with if the four of us travel across America," Quinn objected, trying to interfere before Santana rounded on Rachel for the tone she spoke with. "There's becoming stranded. Or becoming starved or dehydrated. Wild animals. Heat exhaustion which can lead to heat stroke. What if there are people out there who would take advantage of us and try to attack us?"

"Why would anyone want to attack us?" Brittany sounded a little appalled. "We're all just trying to survive."

"You two attacked us before you knew who we were," Rachel supplied, looking down as she spoke. Though she wasn't looking, Brittany shot an apologetic glance the brunette's way.

"New York is close, and if you're right about some kind of warning, I would think the more heavily populated and important cities would get the message circling faster. They would close up real quick," Quinn finished.

Brittany stood, joining Santana at the collection of bricks where the dark lantern still sat. She touched her arm, garnering the tanned girl's attention, and relayed some kind of thought through eye contact that caused Santana to nod solemnly. She dropped her hands from where they had found her hips again as they had been talked and moved to help with the bags. She disclosed over her shoulder with, "We'll discuss this more later."

Quinn found it best to not fight for more to say at the moment. The fact that they got through without raising voices at the very least was some sort of miracle. Rachel stood then and came to Quinn's side, a disassembled gun in her hand and the dirty white bandana in the other. She didn't say anything at first, just standing by the taller girl and watching the other two cheerleaders organize their belongings.

"I think we got our answer," she said quietly without looking up at Quinn.

The blonde looked down at the short singer, a small scrunch to the bridge of her nose in curiosity. "To what?"

"If we're going to part ways," Rachel provided. She looked up at Quinn, her face practically void of any emotion or feeling. "And we are."

With that, Rachel turned back to her side of the makeshift camp and sat down, back facing the others as they had done to them, and continued cleaning her gun.

Placed in between, Quinn looked from her long-time best friends as they shuffled through inventory, to the girl she loved all by herself, cleaning their weapons. She wanted to keep the friends that had been her support for the majority of her life, because without them, things just wouldn't be the same. Even if she had pushed them away during their senior year to take up her current reputation, that didn't mean she enjoyed seeing them every day, because they still tried to talk to her, still tried to win her back to the Cheerios and Glee club. And there was Rachel, the girl she struggled with herself in admitting that she really did love her, that all her horrible antics since she met her was out of retaliation of how scared and lost she had been. She knew she had a choice but there really only seemed like one option.

* * *

It was a couple hours later, about noon, when Brittany approached her. They hadn't spoken once just the two of them since they reunited the few days ago.

"I know what you plan to do," Brittany announced gently, stopping by Quinn. Quinn was looking out across the road, where a few other stores or buildings were abandoned and were mostly just unoccupied lots for building that may never get the chance to be continued. As of now, the only occupants were the two comatose bodies she could spot out.

Quinn looked down at the throng of walkers in the parking lot below them as they were meandering but sticking around, like they knew fresh meat was literally dangling above them. Oh, how Quinn wanted to take a blunt weapon and crack open each skull like an egg.

"I understand, even," Brittany continued. When Quinn still wouldn't look at her, Brittany reached out and touched her arm gently. This did prompt the other blonde and she finally faced the tall girl. "It's because of Rachel."

"Santana is still going to Oregon, isn't she?" Quinn asked, hoping to evade the sensitive subject. Brittany wasn't having it, though, she could see it in her face.

"She is but that doesn't explain why you're not coming with us— you love Rachel and you want to take her to New York."

"Even if it's the last thing we do," Quinn admitted below her breath, tucking her hands into her pants pockets. She wasn't sure why she was sharing this information with Brittany. Maybe it was because on some level, the girl everybody thought was stupid and a stereotypical blonde was actually one of the most street-smart and intuitive people she's ever met. Either or, both Santana and Rachel were out of earshot and if there was one thing Brittany could do for her, it would be to keep a secret, even if secrets were hardly of importance anymore. She sighed.

"Do you really think you can survive up there? What if you're wrong?" Brittany asked in return, now concerned for their welfare.

"I don't see why not. How do you know the roads to Oregon aren't dangerous, let alone if the virus has gotten all the way across the continent?" Quinn countered, looking at Brittany somberly. "It's been weeks since this began. We don't know the extent."

Brittany shrugged. "I don't. And neither do you about New York. But I'm trusting Santana because she has kept me alive this far and I don't want to start doubting her now. You, Rachel, and Santana are all I have. Even then, I know Santana and I will be alone again because you and Rachel will be in another car, going in another direction."

Her words hit home and Quinn resisted flinching. Brittany was so sincere and truthful, even blatantly at times, but at this point, they were the kinds of things that someone says goodbye with. They both knew it, even if Quinn and Santana were supposed to discuss more later. They were going to go split up again. They had found each other out of a sheer miracle and now they were going to leave each other again on a dream. The idea of never seeing these two girls again, who have been by her since she could remember, who with the three of them have made the Unholy Trinity, just kills her as effectively as a gunshot would.

Despite all that, Quinn knew it in her heart she was going to stay by Rachel's side even if it meant departing from her best friends. No matter how much her mind said there were options to mull over, her heart was settled on the only one it saw from the get go. With Rachel, it was whatever it took to keep her safe, alive, and just another day for Quinn to continue being in love with.

Wrapping her arms blindly around the tall girl, Quinn let herself burrow her face into Brittany's shoulder. Brittany didn't hesitate to hug, holding Quinn tightly, tucking her own head away in Quinn's soft blonde hair in hopes to stem the tears she felt stinging her eyes. They embraced each other for however long it was, just soaking up what they could of each other before it was over. Too soon, Quinn pulled away, swallowed her emotions, and Brittany hurriedly wiped at her eyes. Letting a broken smile across her face, Quinn reached up and let a gesture of affection take place in a brush across Brittany's cheek, taking the dampness there away.

"Santana and you will survive. I know it." She smiled. Brittany returned with a watery chuckle and a nod, accepting. She sniffled and looked down, and the few seconds it took, she sobered up a little. She looked at her shoes just a bit longer before raising her eyes again to Quinn's.

"Tell Rachel how you feel," she said. There was a shine to her eyes that wasn't tears and there was intent in her voice that stilled Quinn. "Promise me you'll tell her that you love her and that's why you two are together. I know the truth, Quinn. Even if Santana and me don't get to see it happen, you have to tell her."

"I promise," Quinn whispered unintentionally, taken aback by how serious Brittany had become about something Quinn was struggling to find the right time and place to do herself.

* * *

Rachel finished with the firearms, spending an extra few minutes trying to reassemble them properly since she hadn't quite gotten the hang of it down just yet. Quinn showed her the correct procedures and precautions and she was always a quick study, but she guessed that the reason it was probably taking longer was because she wanted to be thorough with an item with so much power. It also provided something to take her mind off the thoughts just crawling over each other in her head, trying to get the forefront.

She couldn't stop thinking about Quinn and how she woke up in the girl's arms last night and went back to sleep holding her hand. She was hesitant because she didn't want to make it awkward or be rejected, but she was rather _welcomed_ and when she settled, it was right. She couldn't remember a time with Finn that it felt that natural, like it was supposed to happen. Maybe she could but maybe she didn't want to. Thinking about Finn hurt in more ways than just one. She felt like a cheater, being the way she was with Quinn, the way they kissed a couple days ago, the way they slept together at night, the way they could just look at each other now and understand what to do like they had the same mental connection the actual couple present had. She had looked at Quinn earlier to show that it was up to her, that Rachel would follow her. She had protected her and paved the way through this hell so that she could stay alive, no matter how many times she's thought during this entire ordeal that she just wanted it to be over, so she didn't have to fight anymore, so Quinn didn't have to for the both of them, so they didn't suffer and watch the ones they love disappear or die or _turn_.

On the other hand, it hurt to think that Finn could be dead, or worse. Even if she were coming to the conclusion that he no longer held her heart quite like the way it did back in highschool, she still cared about him as a friend, at the very least. It was sad to think that's how she thought of them now, but who could really expect to keep up a relationship in a time like this? What Quinn and she had was hardly anything because of the amount of stress that had been placed on them, and she was sure the other would agree. She knew by the way that she woke up every morning just wanting Quinn and no one else that her subconscious was no longer linked to Finn. It was to the girl she was fighting to understand, fighting to comprehend what she felt, fighting to register that she just wanted to hold and be held and kiss and continue on this horrible journey with. Yet, with all that, they still had their arguments and disagreements, and they had their accidents and close calls. Even if Finn were here, Rachel wasn't sure she would be getting along with him any better than she were with Quinn.

What Rachel really needed to do, as she placed the last two main pieces of another Beretta together with a clunk, was to tell Quinn that she has made a decision. Telling her this conclusion may very well make or break what they had, though she liked to think it would create something, seeing as there could be no other way out of it besides up.

Glancing towards the front of the building, she caught Quinn and Brittany pull away from a hug after their small talk. She had seen the blonde Cheerio stand from where Santana was packing ammo. Quinn had left Rachel earlier to clear her head, letting Rachel take over on her own for a little while. Rachel didn't want to ask what her and Brittany talked about because it seemed more along the lines of a goodbye than anything else, but it really seemed like private matters. She swore she heard Brittany sniffle and that caused Santana to look up as well, but upon seeing that Quinn was taking care of her girlfriend, Santana looked by default at Rachel. The Latina gave a meek smile and went back to placing shells in another case to store away in a duffel bag.

"Do you agree with Quinn?" Santana asked idly, still working with the shells. Her tone was conversational but Rachel suspected something beneath it, like Santana still thought Quinn's decision was foolish.

Wiping along the outside of the gun's barrel, Rachel kept her voice even. "I do. She's taken care of me, and despite my exceptional planning skills, I happen to think more along in the future, whereas she has kept me alive in the present. Without her, I think I would not even be here."

"You have a lot of faith in her," the Cheerio replied, pausing with the fistful of bullets to look at Rachel. "But I can't help feeling that she only wants to go to NYC because of you."

"Why do you feel that?" Rachel asked, actually puzzled. She thought Quinn wanted to go because it was what was best. She hadn't even thought of going to New York for safety, which was odd, since all she wanted to do before she were to someday die is to visit New York and—

"So _you_ could at least get the chance to see it in case anything… _bad_ was to happen," Santana said about the same time Rachel came to the exact conclusion.

"No," Rachel choked out, training her eyes back on Santana from where they spaced out. There was a pause. "No, she can't think that— that's… selfish. What if she's wrong? What if New York is completely overrun? And all she wants to go there for is so that I can get a last chance to see _Broadway_ before I die?"

Instead of looking smug or triumphant for getting Rachel on the same tracks as her, as Santana would have done any day that didn't happen to have a zombie in it, she looked somber. She familiarized with Rachel. Taking her eyes away from the sympathetic cheerleader, Rachel glanced at Quinn, who now stood alone as Brittany was returning. Quinn had her hands balled in her pockets, standing tall and proud as she always would, looking down at what could only be the undead stumbling around. Inside that pretty, back-to-blonde head, could Quinn really only be thinking of Rachel's dying wish?

To be honest, Rachel's new dying wish was not all that important anymore. When she meant "dying" she meant from a long and happy life, maybe from some tragic illness that would shock the world into awesome grief, or just finally in her sleep. Not at the hands of the undead risen or a gun or an accident because they were trying to escape.

Brittany returned and Santana dropped the subject, now assisted by another pair of hands to continue stowing and dividing their belongings. Rachel noticed they had started doing so after their morning discussion. They all knew on some level that they were going to go their separate ways. They needed to share supplies. And like Rachel and Quinn, Santana and Brittany already had some things in the back of their car.

Setting down the gun beside her, Rachel wondered to herself when exactly Quinn and her were going to have that long awaited talk. There was suddenly more that they had to clear up.

* * *

Brittany took her eyes away from watching the sun sink beneath the western horizon. It was their last night together. They could all feel it, weighing heavy in the air and in the way none of them bothered to speak, even as they sat in a tight-knit circle about their lantern and enjoyed a marginal supper. Santana picked through her cold beans, eyes not really focused on her meal, but not wanting to say anything or even look up. Rachel had her chin rested on the capped top of her water bottle, eyes becoming glazed as they stared into ethereal-like glow. Quinn leaned back against a duffel bag, her hands empty. She had already finished what she could stomach and now just wanted to lie there and absorb every last waking moment before what tomorrow brings.

"Will we see each other again?" Brittany asked, hardly audible, the only one able to actually voice what was on their minds. The background din of crickets ironically filled the silence between her question.

"Yes," Rachel responded with the same tone. Her eyes had finally moved to somewhere else, on Brittany's face, as the light blonde met them steadily.

"Do you really believe that?" Santana asked, speaking a little louder. It was still natural of her to counter with a little more intensity in her voice, even if it wasn't meant to start a fight.

"I do," Quinn chimed in. She sat up a little straighter, hands clasped together low on her stomach. "If we all got this far, before we even found each other, then I don't doubt we won't do whatever it takes to stay alive. And when that day comes where we have the first chance to get in contact with each other—"

"You better damn well Facebook message me," Santana finished, a small smile playing on her lips.

The group laughed softly before falling back into a more comfortable quiet. Santana was able to shovel another spoonful of beans into her mouth.

"Do you know what I miss the most?" Brittany asked, not really looking anywhere in particular because she was inside her head at the moment, speaking like she wasn't really aware she was. "The pictures I had on my cellphone. There's some that I'll never get the chance to see again."

Jerking upright, a smile broke across Quinn's face, the first genuine one since they could really remember. All attention turned to her as she dug around the multiple pockets on her jean jacket before she found the right one. She took a scrap of glossy paper, folded up, and before she even opened it, Rachel smiled with recognition. Quinn waved for them to join her and they all scooted closer as Quinn smoothed out the picture she took from her Cheerios locker of the three cheerleaders. Santana and Brittany shared a gasp of surprise. Brittany's pale fingers slowly lifted and gilded over them, like some form of contact could draw the memory of that day to the surface.

"I sort of miss my Cheerios jacket," Santana added, using the clean end of her plastic spoon to tap the said article on her in the picture. "Not only did it make me feel like hot shit and superior in school… but it _was_ really warm."

"I know," Quinn said. "I missed it before all this, though."

"Did you miss us?" Brittany asked. Quinn looked up as they fell back to their original seating. Once they were in place, she nodded.

"It was easy being a Skank," she explained. "I didn't have to listen to Coach Sue, work to keep my grades—"

"—worry about hygiene," Santana tacked on the end, off-handedly. Quinn smirked.

"But I did miss seeing you guys every day in practice… _and_ going to Glee club."

At this, she turned to Rachel who was back in her seat just a couple feet away from Quinn's side. When Quinn addressed Glee club, Rachel side-long glanced at her, and was met with a knowing smile. That club alone, that made her feel more special than anything else in her high school career, would get her attention even in her sleep. She returned the smile sheepishly, giggling lightly when Quinn leaned over to nudge her knee. Knowing they were waiting for her to say something she missed, she cleared her throat, thinking of something small that she could share.

"I miss my star stickers," she announced, nodding. "I didn't even have to stick them anywhere. I just had a little paper with all of them lined neatly in their places that I could look at and run my fingers over. I liked to imagine they were little trophies, for me of course."

"Sounds about right," Santana said, and upon seeing her face, she meant it the best way possible. She was smiling and when their eyes met, she winked. Rachel blushed and tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

Everything quieted down for all but a minute and then Brittany made a noise of excitement. The other three girls watched curiously as it was her turn to leap to her feet and start looking through a backpack. It took a couple minutes but she finally found what got her to squeal and unzipped a pocket. She pulled out a couple small sheets of paper, and before even seeing what lied on them, Rachel knew.

Returning to the circle and coming to kneel before Rachel, Brittany took her bottom lip between her teeth in anticipation. Her bright blue eyes followed her hands as she plucked a sticker from a sheet and then took Rachel's right hand, the one with the bandaging wrapped around from knuckles to wrist. With the back of Rachel's hand face up, Brittany pressed a small pink star onto the bandaging, smoothing her index finger over it to assure that it stuck. With a pleased giggle, Brittany sat back on her haunches and looked Rachel in the eyes.

"Do you like it? I found them when I was looking for post cards."

Nodding and feeling those good tears well in her eyes, Rachel didn't even try to say anything.

"I know it's not gold but this is like a _personal_ trophy," Brittany continued. "From me. I like pink."

"Thank you," Rachel strangled out. Clearing her throat again, she found she couldn't do anything else but shift onto her knees so that she could wrap her arms around Brittany's neck and hug her tight, feeling those enthusiastic arms encircle her ribs and embrace her just as warmly.

"Alright, let's get some rest now before I start my emotional Hispanic crying," Santana said, abandoning her can of beans and standing. She wiped the dirt off her hands on her shirt before sighing and turning to Quinn. She offered a hand with a half smile. Quinn took it after a beat, standing to meet the Latina but not expecting the hug that she received once she was on her feet. Embracing the girl as well, Quinn smiled as she buried her face in a warm neck. This was the last one. There would be no time for another once they were on their way tomorrow morning. Feeling Santana pull away, she gripped her shoulder and gave her an encouraging squeeze before turning. Brittany shuffled over, aiming for a hug again, and Quinn obliged, chuckling as she did. Brittany didn't cry this time but it was still as heartfelt, and she could see just over the tall girl's shoulder as Rachel practically jumped into Santana's arms, her shoulders shaking. Letting go of Brittany and giving her the same squeeze, she watched Rachel as she made her way to their palette, and sat down. Santana was saying something, her fingers threading in the ends of Rachel's long hair down her back, and when she pulled away, she tugged at them playfully, giving her a somber smile. Just by the light of the lantern, her dark eyes were shiny and Quinn knew she was about to cry. Before they departed, Santana held Rachel by the shoulders and said a quick few things straight to her, nodding when Rachel nodded back. With another quick final hug, Rachel walked over, wiping below her eyes and sniffling.

"Everything alright, Rachel?" Quinn asked, trying to keep most of the concern from her voice. She wanted to sound friendly and not so much like a… girlfriend.

"Yes, just upset about tomorrow," Rachel said hurriedly, lying down on the palette beside Quinn and turning her back to her.

Quinn watched over her quizzically and then lay down as well, back to back. She pulled their thin covers up and tried to sleep, honestly did, clenching her eyes shut, trying to regulate her breathing, and staying as still as possible, but when the first muffled sob was heard from the girl behind her, Quinn opened her eyes. Rachel's shoulders were quivering when she looked over her shoulder, and the way the one was hunched, she had her hand over her mouth to stifle her noises.

Plucking up the courage, Quinn pressed her lips together between her teeth and turned over. She reached up and let her hand glide along Rachel's covered arm, up to her mouth where her fingers were wet with tears, and pried them away. She twined their hands together and brought it down to rest on the ground in front of Rachel, which meant she had to move closer. She now laid front to back with Rachel, breathing warmly against the back of her neck and holding her hand tight. She didn't care if this pushed the boundaries for how close they've come. It didn't even matter whether or not there were feelings involved. All it was is one girl trying to comfort another the best way possible when they were going to leave their friends in an apocalyptic world to fight on their own again.

The way Rachel saw it was that she loves Quinn and Santana is right.

* * *

The sun was barely over the eastern horizon when Rachel's eyes first fluttered open. She swallowed harshly as that particular breath had a scream in the sound of Quinn's name in it, and focused on adjusting to the dim lighting compared to the total darkness she had fallen asleep in.

Quinn's hand was still clutched securely in hers, her tears dried and her muscles relaxed with a warm body pressed against her back. It was the best she had slept in weeks or since she had been in that bed back in the Lima Bean coffee shop. Carefully turning over, she got to see for the second time, but just for a second, Quinn's perfect slumbering face before she glanced past her to make sure she wasn't being watched. What she was doing was creepy enough and she didn't need Santana pointing that out again.

Seeing how early it was, neither of the other two Cheerios were awake and they were burrowed down in a nest of duffel bags and their own meek blankets, trying to get the last hour of sleep before…

She needed something to eat. Holding her breath, Rachel tried to slowly slip her fingers from between Quinn's. She doesn't get very far before those pale fingers seize up and she could hear a sharp but quiet inhale behind her of a sleeping person waking suddenly. Rolling all the way onto her back as Quinn sat up quite suddenly, she smiled when she saw the unruly blonde hair.

"What's wrong?" Quinn croaked. She rubbed the heel of her palm in one eye, no makeup to smear there anymore, and focused on the brunette still lying practically beneath her.

"Nothing, besides the usual," Rachel whispered with much more control. She kept the small smile up as she watched Quinn. "I was just hungry and I didn't want to wake you."

"I guess I'm still used to you waking up and screaming," Quinn said off-handedly, sitting the rest of the way up. She realized she had been looming over the girl and as she sat up, she finally released Rachel's hand. She instantly missed the connection but couldn't find a way around wanting to grab her hand again and seeming appropriate.

Rachel felt the loss of warmth in their hands as well. She sat up and finger-combed her hair to a more tame state, and then felt bold enough to set a hand tenderly on Quinn's hunched shoulder.

"Is everything alright?" she asked softly. Quinn's shoulder she was touching shrugged but not in the forceful way that one might try to throw another's hand off. After a moment, Quinn turned around, looking much more awake, and pulled their blanket around their legs, the morning still a tad cold.

"Just the best I have slept in a while," she complied.

Rachel nodded, resisting another smile. "I feel the same way, actually."

Quinn mirrored the action of nodding and then let her eyes jump up to the singer's. "Will you be alright? You were… crying last night and I just wanted to… let you know that I'm _not_ leaving you."

Quinn saying these things felt like she was hugging her even if there was no physical contact. She felt that clichéd warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest at knowing that Quinn just wanted to hold her to make her feel better where words couldn't. She knows how hard it will be to leave the others after they had just gotten accustomed to being with them, Hell, _anyone_ again. Rachel nodded a little, looking down as a warm blush came to her tanned cheeks.

"It's nice that you care about me," she said, almost hoping that Quinn wouldn't hear her at the same as hoping that she would.

A familiar touch just below her left tricep as Quinn's hand came to there and squeezed made her look up. There was a gentle, but kind smile on Quinn's face, and for a moment, it was like they were back in the doctor's office, awaiting confirmation to go through Rachel's nose job with the very girl before her and her perfect nose.

"If I didn't care, I wouldn't have gone through the trouble of making sure you made it out of this alive, and continue to," Quinn said. She wanted to sound like she wasn't completely in love with Rachel. The better friends they become, the less likely it will be all destroyed in the case she tries to kiss her again and _really_ gets rejected. Not that she's thinking about kissing her right now… or later. Whenever.

Rachel laughed lightly but it died down when a question from yesterday began to nag at her again. With Santana and Brittany still asleep and time before they had to risk a horde of zombies to get into their cars, now was as good a time as any to finally have that talk.

"Why are we going to New York?"

Quinn's hand faltered on her arm and then it dropped away, back to her lap. She took a breath, chewing on the inside of her lip. She was steeling herself, like she knew Rachel wouldn't forget all the things they needed to sort through together. She almost expected it.

"I _do_ have a good feeling about it, I do," Quinn started, speaking low like she was guilty. Her fingers began to fidget with one another and then she looked up. "But I want _you_ to see New York if anything ever does happen."

"_Anything happens?_" Rachel asked, sounding a bit incredulous. She was still whispering but her voice would have risen and she glanced at their sleeping companions. She knew it somewhere in the back of her mind but she didn't want it to be true. It was sweet what Quinn was saying and doing, but unnecessary, even life-threatening. "What are you saying, Quinn?"

"I'm saying if I ever get bit!" Quinn whispered harshly, quickly sensing this wasn't going the direction she'd want it to. Her eyes flashed and she had to reign herself back in. It was easy to slip into her punk alter-ego. She took another deep breath and then continued. "I'm _saying_… I would like you see New York if I ever get bit or hurt or… die… or if _you_ do."

"What happened to 'whatever it takes' to stay alive?" Rachel said in reference to what they were talking about not even a minute before. She leaned forward so she could keep from yelling and have Quinn hear the severity of her tone.

"I told you I have a good hunch!" Quinn said, giving her leg beneath the blankets a muffled punch. She was getting frustrated that Rachel couldn't see the whole picture.

"A hunch?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know if it's safe or not to go there? We have nothing, Rachel, besides each other. Why can't you trust me?"

"I _do_ trust you!" Rachel snapped in retaliation to the pang of hurt to the accusation. "I also trust you're not the reason I failed my NYADA application!" Okay, so maybe that wasn't supposed to come out just yet but Rachel felt compelled to throw something in, a curveball, to see how Quinn would really react. She also guessed it had something to do with the heightening tension between them that made her break under pressure.

Quinn's face flickered. It changed from any sort of emotion or reaction to _nothing_. Absolutely nothing. Her eyes drained of all light, her lips relaxed into a simple line, and she stopped moving. Inside, she was reacting different. Even if it were just a discussion, adrenaline began to pump through her veins, preparing her for one of the worst possible outcomes of one of her many bad decisions. Her mind was reeling. How did Rachel find out? How did she know? No one saw her. No one stopped her. She was alone, the only one on the catwalk that day, the only one…

"You're not, aren't you?" Rachel added, voice eerily low. Seeing the reaction, or lack of one, from Quinn frightened her. It frightened her how angry she had just become, how betrayed she felt, how _stupid_ she felt.

Quinn tried to say something. Her mouth parted but nothing came forth, not even a noise or a breath. She was caught, somehow, some way. And then, to make things worse, she began to zone out, thinking that maybe if Rachel had successfully auditioned for NYADA, she could have left for the city by now, could be safer than she was now, at her new college and in her new future in a city that could properly protect her.

This wasn't the way things were supposed to be. Quinn wasn't supposed to fuck up again, or at least, fuck herself over again. Her whole intention was right, even if the means to make it were wrong. And now she could see the whole picture crashing, burning.

"Quinn… you _didn't_," Rachel choked out, feeling tears sting at her eyes. A hand involuntarily rose to her chest, curling fingers into her shirt. It felt like she was losing air even as she took sharp pants. The pain she felt growing in her gut was quickly becoming unbearable. The one person she had come to trust more than anyone, care for, perhaps even— had betrayed her.

"Rachel," Quinn finally cracked, blinking profusely as she rushed back to reality when she really wished she was already dead. Where had her voice gone? She wasn't about to cry, at least not yet. "I… but how—"

"Finn," Rachel interjected. Her fingers dug into her skin now, beneath her shirt. "He told me. He was right. He was right, wasn't he? _You ruined my audition!_"

"Rachel, please," Quinn gasped out, her lungs feeling like they were caving in. "Just listen. Wait!"

Rachel had begun to stand, to get away. She thought if she distanced herself from the rebel, she could ease some of the pain that just kept clawing down her throat. Even as she tried to get to her feet, it was Quinn that kept her from leaving. Not just her words, but actually Quinn as the girl grabbed her by the wrist and kept her rooted. Both hands had hers now and she looked at Quinn with narrowed, watery eyes, both lips pulled between her teeth to keep the worst of her sobs and words from escaping.

"Rachel, you have to understand," Quinn said hushed. She looked at the two of her hands clutching Rachel's one because she couldn't stand to look at those hard eyes anymore. "I… I am. I am the reason… your audition failed. But you have to understand why—"

"I don't think I _want_ to!" Rachel shouted, no longer caring for the sleep of the other two girls. She ripped her hand from Quinn's. She heard all she needed to. Quinn had said the words that she dreaded and prayed weren't true. Her dream was corrupted because of the one girl who had consistently made her high school life awful, who she wanted to best in some way to prove that they were at the very least equal. But of course, that wasn't possible, because Quinn had destroyed her chance of a future. And before, she thought Quinn wouldn't dare do such a thing, after how far they had gotten. Finn was right and all those fights, all those excuses for that _bitch_, were pointless. She felt like she was going to throw up. She stormed away, hating how that couldn't be farther than the space on a roof.

"I did it because I love you!" Quinn screamed, somehow on her feet, hands balled at her sides, her vision completely blurred by salty tears. She tasted those tears. It was poisonous, a terrible taste. The result of her stupid decisions, the conclusion of what her life would sum up to.

Somewhere in the background, Santana and Brittany had awoken, but they didn't matter. The only person that mattered had stopped walking but still wasn't facing her.

Her shoulders bowed in, her head ducked, as Rachel cried openly, angrily, hurtfully. This was the worst thing that could happen at the level that they were already at. And she felt utterly alone as she took another step forward and then again, continuing to walk away to the far end of the complex.

What Quinn said wasn't enough. What she felt wasn't enough. Her chest, her throat, her head, her _heart_, all of them hurt. All demanded some sort of air, something to alleviate what she plaguing them, and she couldn't give it to them. Slowly, she surrendered to her knees and pushed her hands into her eyes, wanting to stem the tears that kept coming. Falling onto her side, she gradually balled up, just wishing everything would stop.

* * *

_What doesn't kill you makes you stronger_

_Stand a little taller_

_Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone_

_What doesn't kill you makes a fighter_

_Footsteps even lighter_

_Doesn't mean I'm over…_

* * *

_When you try your best but you don't succeed_

_When you get what you want, but not what you need_

_When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep_

…

_When you love someone, but it goes to waste…_

* * *

"Are you ready?" Santana's dark, almost black eyes bore into hazel. Quinn nodded after a beat, swallowing the lump returning to her throat. She squeezed her hand to assure that the hatchet, a gift from the Latina no less, was still in her hand, and then glanced down to confirm that Santana still held the large, burgundy brick in her left hand. Looking back up, Santana abruptly took the blonde by the back of her head and brought her lips up as she tilted Quinn's head down to place a firm, earnest kiss to her pale forehead. She released Quinn and turned away before they could see each other's faces again, lifting the brick up as she strode to her girlfriend, who was also armed with said weapon.

The majority of the horde was now collected around the back, and after some persuading, they were riled and ready to attempt climbing up the building; a distraction. The two Cheerios split after a kiss and walked a little farther down the ends of the strip mall, prepared with their stock pile of bricks to bash in heads in the chance that they start to swarm around to the front as the rest of their plan unfolds.

Quinn turned for the front of the strip. Rachel was crouched by their belongings, her trusty metal bar in hand after she refused any sort of better weapon. That metal bar had survived so long with them that the brunette couldn't bear to part with it until she was forced to. Approaching Rachel, the singer averted her eyes from watching Quinn and Santana and bounced the end of the bar in her hand anxiously. Quinn and Rachel contribution to the plan were to get their belongings to their car and keep the small swarm at bay. They would call for Santana and Brittany to make a break for it once they thought they had a standing chance and continue to distract the remaining walkers until the other two were safe at their car. The others' belongings sat a little farther down the ledge as the car that Quinn saw when they arrived was actually Santana's. The entire process had to be quick and efficient, or the lives of the last people they cared for on this god-forsaken earth would suffer. Whether Rachel cared for Quinn or not, Quinn had made a promise and she was going to stick through it.

Slinging a backpack over her back and a duffel bag's straps over her left shoulder, Quinn bobbed the head of the hatchet nervously before glancing over her shoulder. She knew as soon as she gave a mere nod of her head, Santana and Brittany would begin their assault. She tasted bile on her tongue, sick at the idea of leaving them, but drove through it. She had to. She had to trust her instinct. Her eyes locked with those same dark ones from before and registering it was time, finally time, nodded.

Santana's hand rose with the brick clutched in her fingers and swung down viciously. The brick sailed from her hand and a familiar crack of a skull splitting met their ears, accompanied by a perturbed growl. As though some kind of life or death timer started, Quinn and Rachel swung a leg over the side of the building, sat down, and brought the other, preparing for their descent. There was no other way down but to jump. It seemed higher having to climb the radiator from the back but as they braced themselves for their free fall, it didn't seem all that bad. Rachel took a deep breath and was the first to launch off. Following close behind, Quinn lifted her hatchet above her head, purposely aiming for the closest walker.

Something was wrong the moment they landed. The head of the hatchet buried itself deep in the skull of the walker and released itself once the body crumpled to the ground, but Rachel was gone. Quinn didn't have time to look. The comatose undead were getting to their hands and feet, shuffling and snarling at the smell of the living. Quinn darted for their car, just a few parking spaces down, and then she realized where Rachel had gone.

Attempting to stand but nearly stumbling over, Rachel had landed wrong. She batted the undead away from her with swinging blows of her bar, but didn't have the balance to give any real damage. Looking over her shoulder as she watched Rachel beat her way towards the car, Quinn was suddenly followed closely by a walker and it was too close to swing around and hack into. With nothing left to use and gritting her teeth, she barreled around with her fist. The extra momentum provided behind the weight of the hatchet helped her fist crunch into the walker's eye, throwing it backwards and to the asphalt. Crying out at realizing just how much it hurt to actually punch someone, or something in the face, Quinn didn't hesitate to think about Rachel hating her at the moment or that the brunette had explicitly said she could take care of herself; she shrugged off her encumbering bags. Careful to not hurt Rachel with the hatchet in her hand, she wrapped her arm around the girl's ribs and helped her up to the car. She spared a second to look down at Rachel's feet and to see nothing was jutting from the skin or pant leggings, nor did her feet look twisted awkwardly. She suspected the bags had just thrown Rachel balance off and she sprained an ankle.

As soon as Quinn had Rachel by the car and she could stand on her own, she turned back around, the hatchet clutched with both hands. The first zombie to meet her eyes was a shuffler, something between a walker and a runner, with one arm, the other shoulder sprouting sinews of muscle. Bringing the hatchet above her head, she lurched forward and swung down. The blade split the skull in half, a spurt of blood drawing a line down the blonde's face, yet she had no time to even brush it off on her sleeve or pause to realize how reviling it was. The small swarm was quickly gathering, creating a circle about the car and the girls. Assessing their odds, Quinn knew Rachel wasn't going to stand a chance… literally.

"Get in the car!" Quinn shouted abruptly. The hatchet suddenly felt too heavy in her hands and she thought her senses were failing her. Sound was falling away, all the noises and gurgling of the undead slipping away to the background. Her fingers started to feel numb and her breathing was too loud in her head. This must be a whole new level of adrenaline, and she wasn't sure it was going to be any kind of help.

Lunging forward, she arced the hatchet and severed the head of the nearest walker. A crawler broke the ranks and reached for Quinn's ankles, its mouth open wordlessly. Quinn kicked out, crushing the crawler's hand beneath the heel of her boot, and then surged upward, the toe of her boot catching the crawler in the jaw and snapping its head back.

Behind her, Rachel ignored Quinn's command as easily as she had been ignoring the girl herself. True, she was going to stick near the car, her ankle was throbbing and shooting lances of pain up to her hip, but with walkers rounding the sides, she wasn't just going to let them slap at the car windows or flank the blonde. Switching the metal bar around so that she held it in a reversed grip, she shot her arm forward to the closest walker, teeth gritted together to hold back a shriek of effort. Her aim was a little off but the end slid off the undead man's brow and into his socket, slipping in easily. It slouched to the ground after she struck it in the brain, blood dripping from the end of her weapon as the remnants of the man's eyes had popped like a grape and stuck to the jagged metal. Turning to the other end of the car, she repositioned the bar in her hand again and clenched her jaw. She had no room to be scared; the pain in her leg was all that she could really think of right now. She swung the bar and clashed it against the shuffler's side of the head. The blow was powerful enough and it ricocheted off the side of the car, its brain was spilling from its ear when it hit the concrete.

Forcing herself to not growl in frustration once she heard the reports of Rachel fighting back and clearly _not_ listening to her command, Quinn pulled the hatchet back across her chest and lunged out. The head sunk into one undead's skull and the momentum of the body falling pulled the hatchet out so she was free to counter back to the next approaching walker. Unfortunately, as she downed another, things were quickly not going the way they planned and it was apparent in the next few seconds.

"Q!" what sounded like Brittany called from the roof. Glancing up, she could see the said blonde already slinging duffel bags over her shoulder and looking back where supposed Santana was holding up. Behind Quinn, Rachel had had to abandon the car's side as walkers began to close in. There were more that were bound to round the sides of the building and they were being circled and outnumbered right now.

A powerful gunshot rang out in the morning air. Three bodies in front of Quinn collapsed, two of which had the back of their heads blown wide and the other had his shoulder hanging by threads. She felt a hand grip her shirt. Twisting and bringing both her hands up to shove off the biter, her breath hitched when she realized how close she came to attacking Rachel. Her left hand was grabbing Quinn by the shirt for support while her armed hand was battering away walkers even if half the attempts were no longer aimed for their heads again. Casting her eyes down, Quinn spotted the hilt of Rachel's shotgun protruding from an unzipped portion of their duffel bag that the brunette had dropped once she got to the car.

"Rachel, spin!" Quinn instructed. In unison, the girls whirled around to face the opposite directions. Taking Rachel's hand and removing it from her shirt, she was free to duck down beneath the roaming corpse hands. The smell was unbearable. Decaying and rotting flesh seemed thicker below the bodies. As her right hand dropped the hatchet and wrapped around the hilt of the shotgun, tugging to release it from the duffel bag, she felt the first fingers scratch at her shirt, missing the skin of her back and just snatching fabric. She was beginning to second-guess whether or not this was a good idea as panic settled comfortably in her chest and made it difficult to breathe when the hand still in her left one wrenched from her. There was a whirr of a fast moving object through air and then several reports of tearing flesh. Warm fluids splashed over her back but the hands were no longer clawing at her. Falling to her knees and hands the rest of the way now that she wasn't holding Rachel's hand like a suspension cord, she crawled through the legs of walkers until she could flip around and her throw her back against the car door. Quinn lifted the muzzle of the shotgun up, pumped, and pulled the trigger, releasing a held breath.

Rachel knew what Quinn was planning to do the moment she was told to turn. Despite the agony radiating in her leg, she twirled and cracked a head just as she thought she lost her grip on Quinn's shirt. Instead, she felt a warm and safe hand in hers that gave her the courage to stab out and dislocate the jaw of another walker so that it hung without use from its face. When she glanced over her shoulder to make sure Quinn was getting to the duffel bag and the shotgun she had strategically placed in case things had gotten out of hand, (which they did and they should all thank her for planning ahead) she saw hands trying to grab at Quinn. Jerking her hand from Quinn's tight hold, she dropped to her knees, hissing through her teeth and tears at the sharp pain in the joint, and grabbed the hatchet the blonde abandoned. Straggling back to her feet, she cleaved at a walker behind her that was getting too close, blood splattering across her pant legs, and then swung back around. The hatchet strove through five arms, all ranging from forearms to elbows. Nothing stopped Quinn then and she was free to grab the gun. Ducking just as she saw the shotgun pumped, bullet fragments rained around Rachel as she covered her ears against the booming noise.

The sound of feet hitting pavement came from the building. Glimpsing through the legs of walkers, she could see Brittany and Santana running for them. Rachel didn't have long to see if they would come to help them kill the last couple walkers when arms encircled her waist and lifted her easily from the ground where she was still crouching. Undead arms swung at where she had been seated just moments before and a furious growl of breakfast escaping came from the zombie. It was Quinn who wrapped her up in her arms. The shotgun pressed against her stomach uncomfortably, and just as she was thinking of taking it away, Quinn moved that arm out, aimed, and fired. The targeted undead reared back, its head imploding, and crumpled to its knees, blood running down its neck in ribbons and soaking into its shirt.

Quinn must have opened the car door as soon as she fired the first time because Rachel was suddenly being thrown inside without complication. The girl was grabbing their duffel bags and slinging them inside, breathing heavily, blood dappling her pale features and her hair still a mess. Wanting to be angry but finding she couldn't, Rachel couldn't help but think how beautiful Quinn was… as sick as it should be. On cue, hazel eyes darted up to Rachel's deep brown and they locked for a moment. Quinn paused. It was the first they could bear looking at each other in the eyes after what was discovered. Somehow, without that pink hair, it was no longer Skank Quinn who got her kicks by ruining people's lives. It was broken Quinn, the one who had gotten pregnant, cheated on, her family turned on her, and it was just desperate what she had done. Something clicked inside Rachel. But then it was gone because Quinn was slamming the door shut and firing another round at some unseen walker before running around to the other side of the car. She practically dove inside, found their keys and started the car, and locked their doors. Wet hands smacked at their car in feeble attempts to pry open the metal to get the life inside, and Rachel watched for a moment with a look of discontent, _great_ discontent, as one even pressed its teeth, lips ripped from its face, against the window glass and created unsettling screeching sounds as its jaw undulated.

"Fuck," Quinn swore beneath her breath. A few walkers were beginning to straggle from around the closest side of the strip mall, picking up pace when they realized what the commotion was about. Throwing the car gear into reverse, Quinn floored the pedal. The tires spun for a second, burning rubber and adding to the smell of the corpses, before they flew backwards, rolling over a couple bodies. Rachel gasped at the sound of crunching bones, something about running people over being the most unsatisfying way to kill anything, and then Quinn was peeling out, swinging around like a drifter as taught by her Skank friends, and well, Puck.

Their rustle had distracted all of the walkers from Brittany and Santana as they made their way to their car. They had made sure that the last few zombies wouldn't gang up on Quinn while she got injured Rachel and their belongings in the car, but as soon as that was cleared, they bolted for their own car. Quinn and Rachel reached the entrance to the road just as Santana was, and with just a couple seconds to spare, Quinn rolled down her window. Brittany, in the passenger side, did the same. They didn't say anything. They shared wordless expressions, and then Santana broke the silence.

"We'll see you again, Q." The Latina's eyes moved from the blonde to the brunette in the other car. "You make sure she doesn't dye her hair that god awful pink again, Rachel."

"Maybe purple," Brittany chirped.

Quinn broke a sad smile and Rachel let a strangled laugh escape. They rolled up their windows, hit the horn a couple times, and then they were each pulling out of the parking lot, Quinn turning right and Santana left. They sped off in opposite directions and Rachel couldn't help being a little dramatic, turning in her seat and watching through the back windshield as the other two girls drove away without a second thought. She looked back at the strip mall as well, with the last of the horde rounding the sides and splitting to run after each car to no avail. She felt like it was some sort of home considering who they found there and how long it protected them. She didn't stop the tears that built up in her eyes and swallowed thickly. All she had to think to keep her hopes was that if she and Quinn made it as far as they did, despite the narrow scrapes and the injuries and the fights, then there shouldn't be a doubt between the four of them that they wouldn't see each other again. She turned back around in her seat, adjusted her seat belt, and flipped down the sun visor to look at herself in the little mirror. She didn't have anything else so she took the sleeve of her shirt and wiped away the blood splatters and pulled her hair back, though she needed a hair-tie to keep it that way.

"Do you need a hair band?" Quinn asked quietly, looking straight ahead. Rachel glanced at the nearly emotionless face with both hands on the wheel before admitting she did. Quinn lifted her right hand and shook her jacket sleeve back, a single hair-tie on her wrist. She bent her middle finger down towards her palm to slip the nail beneath the band and roll it off her wrist, and offered it. Rachel took it carefully from the girl's fingers, recollected her messy and damp hair, and tied it just beneath the crown of her head. With a ragged sigh, she relaxed back against their seat, replaying the events that literally happened just minutes ago. Once she reached the end of the "reel" for the third time, she felt the need to do something. To show Quinn that… she was grateful for her, for saving her life again, for getting her out of that mess, for not leaving her. That she may be mad but she couldn't stay that way if it was just going to be the two of them again for a long time.

Without looking, Rachel reached over and took Quinn's right hand from the wheel. She brought it down to the center console between them, twining their fingers tightly together with no resistance from the blonde's part, and held them there tightly. Quinn didn't look up from the road but Rachel could see in her peripheral as the blonde swallowed. The pale fingers in Rachel's tightened and didn't relax.

* * *

**A/N: So instead of studying for my exams, I took a couple nights to write this, edit, write, edit, yadda yadda yadda. I APOLOGIZE for making you wait so long but again, I was hit with writer's block as I've been thinking of how I want this story to go on and what I wanted to happen in this chapter. Phew, it's long. The long_est_ so far. That could only mean future chapters with such wealth! ;D**

**As always, I love you, reviews are wanted, and I'm thinking a Faberry kiss next chapter. right. at. the. beginning. (I like the sound of that.)**

**-x**


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